Volksmarch
by Dances With Wagner
Summary: Set just after the Royal Wedding. Changeling spies lurk in every shadow, the South simmers with discontent, and Applejack and Pinkie Pie find themselves thrust into the middle of a brewing class struggle. Meanwhile, Celestia broods on how to restore harmony to her imperiled kingdom. I have tried my best to hew to established canon. Comments much appreciated.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

She fell.

Unheeded, impotent, undone, she fell, and broke upon the uncaring earth.

Everything had failed: her magic, her cleverness. Even imbued with the power of Equestria, she had still failed.

_She_ was her focus, blazing with terrible majesty and winged with triumph upon her kingdom's throne. _Her _throne. What she had dreamed of for an age, and seized by cunning and magic. Hers by right and conquest. Stolen by this glittering usurper who shone too much like the sun.

She fell, but she would not forget. Nor forgive. She could afford to wait a bit longer. She would redouble her strength, gather her loyal servants, and bide her time. She would prove herself rightful master of all: every stallion, mare, and foal. They would all listen. They would all bow.

In that moment of defeat, she imagined her victory.

And she smiled.


	2. Discourses Part One

**Discourses, Part One**

No one saw the garden like Celestia did. The ponies smelled the flowers, or gaped at the statues, or wandered in the vast, twisting maze. But she had cultivated every species of flower to perfection centuries ago, had memorized the maze a dozen times over. And she no longer gave any thought to the statues appearances. She visited the gardens for minds.

One, in particular, she had long ago abandoned to stony infamy, a mind warped and twisted as its favorite form. Contorted in pain and surprise, he awaited her as he always did, with unseeing eyes. A creature of pure chaos, locked in unchanging stone.

There were no children today, no wandering scholars or lovesick couples. She had assured it. No one to interrupt her. She knelt at the feet of the god of chaos, and closed her eyes.

After a moment, her eyes snapped opened, glowing with a faint radiance. The light spread to her horn, and she lowered her head. Her horn touched the stone.

With a rush of vertigo she was catapulted away from her corporeal form and into a grey void, nothingness stretching in every direction. For a moment, she hung peacefully suspended in a state of utter isolation, alone in a world without form.

Then, laughter.

"So."

Colors and shapes of a thousand different beats whirled around her, shifting hooves and hands and claws clutched at her mane. Uncountable different eyes opened above her in a leering mockery of the constellations, and everywhere echoed a low, cruel laugh.

"Welcome, welcome."

The beasts scampered and ran in a circle around her: bears, eagles, goats, lions, dogs, and stranger things. Finally, as if tiring of the game, they froze, leering at her with tooth and beak and maw.

Celestia's horn blazed and she cast out a spell of banishment.

But instead of vanishing into the void, the animals began to melt like wax sculptures on a sunny day, each blending into its neighbor in a collage of fur and feather and scale. Even their voices began to merge, cries and bellows melting from furious cacophony to a single, lilting laugh. Finally, the wax-creatures morphed into a single figure, which was none and all of them. A draconequus.

"Discord."

His statue had captured the merest fraction of his chaotic nature. It was impossible to fix an image of his form from moment to moment, because it constantly shifted: scales driving back fur, claws morphing into hooves. Even his eyes changed their position on his face by tiny increments, never quite achieving symmetry. It was as if his appearance didn't concern him, as if his physical form was an afterthought, or a shoddy attempt at concealing something…more. Sometimes Celestia wondered if he adopted a physical manifestation as a mere formality, a way of poking fun at lesser creatures that were bound to a single shape.

Even his surroundings seemed to warp around him. Earth rose and fell like the sea, water fell upwards into the sky, and ice came glittering down. When he spoke, his voice didn't come from his constantly-changing mouth, but echoed from various directions at random. Without the physical touchstone of the draconequus, it might have been the voice of the void itself.

"Welcome, Celestia. Welcome to my world. Do you like what I've done with the place?"

Celestia ignored the warping, shifting chaos around her. She strode right up to him.

"Discord, you know full well that you're trapped in my menagerie. This…world…is nothing but your own polluted mind turned back on itself."

He gave a gasp, and fell back in a swoon. A single tear fell from a chicken's eye, but his eagle's beak turned up in a mad grin.

"Trapped, you say? What an interesting theory, Celestia. Tell me, do you really think you can _trap_ anarchy itself?"

He gave a low chuckle and his form dissolved into the void. Only his voice remained, echoing from everywhere and nowhere.

"You can't trap me, any more than you can cage the air or bottle up the sunlight."

Sunlight and wind wove around her, carrying his voice into her ears.

"I'm a thing unbound by my very nature. You can't control me any more then you could direct the tides, or train the winds…or move the sun…" Laughter burned around her.

"Enough!" Her voice boomed out, silencing the mocking lilt, "You're trapped, whether you like it or not, and you will listen to me!"

After a moment, Discord reformed and sat, eyeing her with a critical gaze.

"Very well, Celestia. We'll play the game your way. To what—"

He reclined on an invisible surface, and materialized sunglasses onto his face.

"—do I owe the pleasure?"

She looked around. No shapeless horrors assaulted her, no mysterious sounds tickled her ears. The void was silent and empty in all directions. She sat down. And she smiled.

"I need your help."

There was a long moment of silence. Discord didn't move. Celestia held her breath.

He started snoring.

"Discord!"

He woke—or feigned waking—with a start. Taking off his sunglasses, he cleaned imaginary wax out of one ear.

"Sorry, say again, deary. I'm your prisoner, I heed you, yadda yadda…"

"I need your help."

"Ah, yes. That's the part where you started sounding riDIculous!"

He rose and grew to an enormous height. Stars and mock-suns flew around him in a herky-jerky dance to wheezy polka music from his accordion-tail.

"Celestia. Goddess of the Sun and master of magic. Heir to all the secrets of Ponykind, and keeper of more than a few herself. Who holds mastery over the heavens and the earths…"

The music stopped, and the celestial bodies crashed to the ground. Discord thrust his titanic face at hers, shrinking as he did. In a moment they were eye to eye, an inch apart. He grinned.

"…needs my help."

Celestia didn't blink.

"Yes. I do."

Discord threw himself back and laughed. Laughed and laughed. She waited for him to finish. After a long few minutes, he did. Wiping a last tear from one eye, he lifted himself up and bowed low. His grin didn't fade an inch.

"How can I be of service, oh One Who Chaos Heeds…?

"There is disharmony in my kingdom."

He gave a terrible gasp, and shrunk back.

"Oh, _no!_ Celestia, _darling!_ What's wrong? Where've you been? You couldn't be…losing your touch?"

His smile stretched wide, but his eyes narrowed viciously.

"_Could_ you?"

Celestia ignored this, and went on.

"A new threat has appeared: a shapeshifter queen and her changeling minions. They attacked a royal wedding and nearly destroyed the capitol. They were…repulsed."

There was a long pause before she went on. Discord hung on every word in rapt silence, occasionally licking his grin.

"But now, they are at large in my kingdom. Every pony is fearful that their neighbors and friends might be imposters. Trust is vanishing, friendship is eroding, and harmony is failing."

Discord's grin nearly cut his face in two.

"Oh, don't stop, dear. _Do_ go on."

"That's all there is to know. Chrysalis nearly toppled me from my throne, and is spreading disharmony in all corners of Equestria. And I need your help to stop her."

"_Moi?_ What could a poor, simple spirit of conflict do for you, the very essence of Harmony? Don't you command laughter and loyalty and all the rest?" He gave a sadistic chuckle and raised an eyebrow, "Or have they fallen to another…?"

Celestia shook her head. .

"No. They are my…friends. But this goes beyond them. Chrysalis threatens the entire kingdom, and she must be stopped. _I_ must stop her."

"Yes, of course you must. Goddess and Princess and Friend, and all that."

"Exactly."

He reclined and cleaned his teeth with a long claw.

"So where do I come in?"

"You are a being of chaos. A being who understands disharmony."

He slicked back a lock of hair that extruded from his forehead for the purpose.

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"And you know how to stop it."

He gave a tinny laugh.

"I suppose I do. But you flatter me."

"And you want to help me."

His smile faded an inch.

"Well, there you're clearly mistaken. Oh, have we met? I'm _Discord_, spirit of strife and disharmony? Let your kingdom burn. I'll get free one day and rule the ashes."

"A lifeless world?"

His eyebrows shot up a fraction. She went on.

"Chrysalis doesn't just want to rule Equestria. She wants to drain it of love and friendship and leave it a lifeless husk. Surely you see the problem. For you."

He leaned back, and said nothing. She pressed her advantage.

"You're Discord. As you say, the spirit of strife and disharmony. Lord of things not fitting together. Master of conflict. Where will you be if ponykind is drained of its emotions? Would you want to exist in a colorless world? Could you even survive?"

There was a long silence. Discord's face was unreadable. Finally, he spoke, and his voice was low and intent.

"If I helped you, if I aided you in finding this changeling queen you seek…what would you offer me in return?"

Now came the part Celestia had braced herself for. The part that went against everything she had ever believed, everything she had ever taught her subjects.

"Freedom. If you help me find and defeat Chrysalis once and for all, I will let you go."

There was another unbroken length of silence. Discord lay perfectly still. Finally, Celestia lost patience.

"Well?"

He made her wait a few moments more.

"What you propose is intriguing, Sun-child. But doubtful. What guarantee can you offer me that you speak the truth?"

She was unnerved by the seriousness in his voice. It was so unlike him. But that meant she had succeeded. He was hers.

"My word, Discord. You have my word."

What was that worth to him? She didn't know. But wouldn't he be willing to take any chance at freedom, even one offered by an enemy of a millennium's enmity? Could he trust her?

"Yes. Yes, I will help you, Celestia."

She rose to thank him, but he cut her off with one finger.

"But we'll do it my way."

Her lips pursed into the smallest of frowns, and her eyebrows furrowed.

"What does that mean?"

He grinned again. Darkness gathered in the void, and Celestia felt his awareness crowding in on her. Everywhere, laughter.

"You'll see. For now, tell me everything you know about this…Chrysalis."


	3. Go South Young Pony

Go South, Young Pony

The train eased to a stop with a long metallic squeal. When the attendants opened the doors, it was like an oven door swinging wide. Applejack's eyes moistened up as she disembarked. The train wallowed in a cloud of dust the iron horses had thrown up. The sun was nearing its zenith, and the station shimmered and swam in the heat. It looked almost underwater: the few ponies on the platform even moved slowly, as if through the ocean depths. There was no breeze.

She saw Braeburn, sheltered under the station's wooden awning. He seemed more tired than she remembered, but he looked up brightly when she called.

"Hiya cuz!"

She trotted over to him. He gave her a smile.

"Welcome back, little Applejack," he said.

A frown.

"I'm not that little, Braeburn. I'm almost as big as you."

He chucked, but ended with a small cough.

"Not the only thing, medium-sized cuz. The town's grown almost as much as you have."

It was true. One dusty street had grown into a tangle of broad avenues and byways. Wooden storefronts and one-story houses had been replaced by sturdy brick buildings with elegantly painted wood trim. As Braeburn led her away from the station, they had to stop and weave around other ponies, so crowded were the sidewalks. Carriages clattered along cobblestone thoroughfares, and the combines hooves and wheels of the vast multitudes threw up great clouds of dust that lingered around the town like red mist. Yet many of the ponies they brushed flanks with were dressed in the fanciest of get-ups: three-piece suits and voluminous lace-and-silk hoop dresses in elegant pastels and garish colors.

Applejack was hemmed in by the crowd, and could barely follow Braeburn. Quite by accident, she stepped around one haggard-looking stallion and onto the gently-bobbing lace-and-satin train of two young fillies. Stumbling, they both snapped their powdered faces back and glared at Applejack. The taller one's makeup twisted her face into a mask as she scowled.

"Ugh! DO mind where you're going,"

She turned her nose up and stalked away through the crowd before Applejack could stammer out an apology. Before she melted from view, she scoffed to her simpering companion, "REALLY. The NERVE of someponies…"

Braeburn's head thrust, periscopic, from the crowd.

"Come on, cuz!"

Applejack scurried through the mob after him.

They left the clattering, crowded streets behind and took a dirt road that ran up a shallow hill. All around were dry, red plains.

"The town sure is different," Applejack said, looking back.

"Ayup," Braeburn replied. "And not just the town, either. Plenty of new faces, too. Ponies arrive every day."

"You don't sound so happy about that," Applejack said.

Braeburn looked back at the town. A haze of red dust hung over everything, punctured by columns of smoke that shot up from a hundred chimneys.

"Well, it's not that I'm sad the town's been doing so well, or that we've got so many new neighbors. It's just…everything's changin'. Some of these new ponies, they haven't ever worked an apple pickin' day in their lives. Don't want to either. Whole place hardly feels like Appleoosa anymore."

But he lifted his head and smiled.

"But here's something you'll like."

They crested an embankment and she was home.

Not _home_, of course, but good as. Apple trees planted in every direction, which was good as home. Taylor, red and golden delicious, mackintoshes, and everything in between. And in the center of that vast sea of trees, was what could only be called a mansion.

"Built with the finest apple wood from our very own trees, of course," Braeburn said.

The road ended in a loop that circled the front of the house, and Applejack's mouth fell as she looked over the towering building. Its foundation was red stone, and its white-painted wooden pillars gleamed like morning dew. They cantered up the steps to a huge double door, inlaid with a gold-leafed apple. On either side, freshly-planted saplings grew in elegant clay pots. But they weren't apples. They were…

The doors burst open and a trio of perfectly primped fashionable fillies strutted out, lost in a cloud of high-pitched chittering.

"Oranges," Braeburn said, "They're oranges."

The three young ponies were each dressed in the most opulent and convoluted assortment of lace, silk, ribbon, and buttons that Applejack had ever seen. The middle one, who the others hovered around and talked to (or more usually, listened to) was the worst. She was piled under a veritable mountain of fabric that wavered and swung as she pranced down the steps. She did not see Applejack until she brushed against her.

All three went deathly quiet. The lead filly gasped.

"Oh. My. GAAAAAAWSH."

Her face melted into a visage of terrible anguish. Applejack grimaced as her voice went higher and higher. She offered a hoof.

"Errr, everything alright?"

The shrieking filly lurched away, clutching her dress.

"Oh, gaaaaaaaaawsh no. Keep those filthy hooves _awaaaay!_"

Applejack looked down. Her hooves had indeed collected a dusting of red clay. A small patch had smeared onto the filly's outrageously frilly dress.

"It's RUINED!" She collapsed into the hooves of her friends, who immediately began consoling her in a clamor of voices like the drone of honeybees.

"No, Sugar, it's really fine." "Look, it comes off easily." "You can hardly see it." "It's still the nicest dress in town…"

Sugar brushed a single tear from her long eyelash.

"Do you _really_ think so?"

Her friends erupted in incomprehensible chitters of assent. She pulled herself up and smoothed out her dress.

"Very well. I suppose it would be a very CRIME not to give the town the _pleasure_ of my presence. For them, I. Shall. Persevere."

She gave Applejack a parting glare and huffed away, trailed by her attendants.

"Aaaaand who was that just now?" Applejack asked.

Braeburn gave a small huff.

"That was Sugar Spice, Don Orange's daughter."

"The Oranges?"

Braeburn nodded and pulled open the mansion's door.

"Oh, yes."

Inside was a maelstrom of activity. Ponies scurried left and right, furniture of all shapes piled in uneven clumps, and unhung portraits of stuffy stallions leaned against walls. At the center of this commotion was a regally-dressed mare who directed everypony this way and that with absolute command and flawless poise. As the doors slammed shut, all the activity came to a sudden halt.

"_Darling!_" Somehow, Applejack was ferried forward without ever taking step. The mare simply waited, perfectly serene, until Applejack was deposited in front of her.

"Uh…hello?"

"Why, Jackie, dear, don't you recognize me? It's your Auntie Clementine."

Dimly, Applejack recalled a Manehattan relation who had pinched her cheeks too hard, and always hogged the conversation at parties. But then where was…"

"Valencio dear, _do _come here a moment, would you?" Aunt Clementine called.

Don Valencio di Orange entered the room, but _entered_ might do him an injustice. He _strode_, and the room wrapped itself around him. Black-and-white suited attendants hung on each flank, one with a notebook, the other with a pair of bottles, and a third with a long list that trailed behind him. A steady stream of orders issued from beneath the Don's perfectly waxed moustache, and each was eagerly scribbled down in half a dozen places.

"Give the Manehattan distributers another month to meet quota, shift two million bits produce to the North Fillydelphia warehouses, the '29, not the '34 cider for the Contessa Promenada or she'll think we're _completely_ tasteless, and see to it that my daughter has a new dress by this evening. The one she wore this morning's _weeks _old."

He stopped, and looked at Applejack. At a minuscule twitch of his moustache, his attendants melted into the background and he stepped forward with a smile.

"Applejack. A pleasure to see you again."

He bowed, and kissed one of her hooves. Applejack rolled her eyes, but smiled.

"Pleased as punch, Don Valencio."

"Ah, yes." With another twitch, his servants were clustered around him again, though careful, Applejack noted, not to come too close.

"Clementina, dear, _do_ make sure we have enough orange punch for this evening. It wouldn't do if we had to drink that _common_ stuff."

This was eagerly recorded by his secretaries, even as Aunt Clementine repeated it to a gaggle of maidponies who leapt to her side. Applejack felt rather forgotten. Braeburn saved her from having to interrupt.

"Weeeeeeell, I'd best be headed back to the field now. Plenty of trees to tend to…"

Applejack half-turned to follow him, but Aunt Clementine wrapped a foreleg around her.

"Jackie, dear, _surely_ you aren't planning on wearing _that_ tonight."

Applejack's eyes spun upwards to her hat. Of course, it was dusty, worn, and loved.

"What, this?"

Aunt Clementine's face contorted into something resembling pity.

"Well…not _just_ that, dear. The whole…_getup_."

"I'm not wearing anything else, Auntie."

Clementine let out a little snort, but forced a smile.

"Well, yes dearie, exactly. We simply _must_ find something for you to _wear_. Perhaps one of Sugar Spice's old things…"

"Oh, I don't think…"

"No, really dear, we simply _must_ get you into something more…_acceptable. _And of _course_ you'll require a bath…"

Ignoring her niece's struggles and excuses, Donna Clementina di Orange pushed Applejack upstairs. She resisted as hard as she could, but nothing could break the lacy death-grip of her aunt's hooves. All she managed were hopeless glances back at the grinning, receding Braeburn as she was forced upstairs toward that most horrible of hells, that purgatory of perdition where decency went to die.

"Here we are darling! The _bath!_"

Half a dozen grinning maidponies dragged her to her doom. The pink-painted door muffled the screams.


	4. Apples and Oranges

She emerged, dry, clean, and none too pleased a few hours later, completely mummified in the most stifling contrivance that had ever been bourne by ponykind. She stretched and twisted in the hallway, but the lace would not give.

She snorted, and went to search for Braeburn.

He was transplanting an apple sapling in the southern orchards when she found him. As she approached, the potted tree on his back began to wobble and tilt until finally—"

"Whoa, there." She righted it, and Braeburn gave her a thankful smile.

"Well, don't you look like the right spittin' image of yer cousin Sugar Sweet."

Applejack rolled up her eyes.

"I just can't see how these Oranges stand all this…_frilliness_! I mean, how am I supposed to water the trees without gettin' my clothes all soaked?"

Braeburn put the pot down and lifted the sapling by his teeth into a waiting hole.

"Don't think yer supposed to do much watering, cuz."

Applejack gave him a waiting half-bucket of water.

"I guess not. But what's all this nonsense for anyway? Aunt Clementine mentioned a Contessa or somewhat…"

"Contessa Magia di Promenada. Some Canterlot hotentot, coming for a dinner tonight."

"At our house?"

"At the family's house, cuz. That means the Oranges too."

Applejack looked around as he tipped water slowly onto the newly-buried roots.

"Apples look…"

In actual fact, the orchard looked pathetic. The ground was dusty and cracked, and every tree's leaves were hanging wilted.

"…not so good. What's with the trees, Braeburn?"

He let the last few drops of water soak into the chalky soil before putting the bucket on his back and leading her along the dusty orchard rows.

"Well, it's been a long, dry year since you last visited."

Applejack stopped at a particularly twisted tree, and gave it a puzzled inspection.

"But can't the pegasi can bring in more rain? The town seemed plenty comfortable to me."

Braeburn gave a little snort and pawed the ground. Little tufts of dust shot up where he did.

"Oh, the town gets…enough water. As do Don Valencio's newfangled orange groves. But between the two of them, they take up so much that there's hardly enough left for the poor apples here."

They continued. Applejack hardly noticed that her dress was collecting a hem of red dust.

"What _are_ the Oranges doing here? They were the toast of Manehattan last I knew. What are they doin' in…" She split a cheeky grin, "Aaaaaaaaapleoosa?"

Braeburn rewarded her with a bashful smile. But it faded as he explained.

"Don Valencio was involved in some kinda mess in the city. Something about sour lemons. So he brought his wife and foal out here while the whole thing cools off. They're family, so we couldn't turn 'em away. But after a few weeks Donna Clementina was runnin' everything and Don Valencio was plantin' oranges. Been like that for almost a year now."

"And no one's asked 'em to high-tail it out of here?"

"Well, they're family. But it's not just them, either. Seems like every city-pony with one bag of bits and a hankerin' for two has moved out here. Used to be, everypony worked the fields. Now half the ponies are fighting each other to run things, and want the rest of us do the work."

"That don't seem fair," Applejack said.

"No, it don't" Braeburn said. He looked wistfully at a nearly-dead ten-footer. Its trunk was erect and proud but its leaves were limp and downcast. Its roots coiled desperately into the chalky red earth. Above in the cloudless sky, the sun beat down without respite.

They returned in the mid afternoon, to find the manor adorned with every decoration and preparation a celebration required. Lights hung from every tree along the drive, as-yet unlit lanterns of red and yellow. The topiary—Clementine had actually installed _topiary_, Applejack wondered— was groomed to perfection, the walkway was freshly graveled. Every trace of dust and grime was gone from the front steps, and they gleamed with pearl-white splendor. Inside, the furniture was uncovered, and a rich panoply of yellow and orange couches, rugs, and divans cluttered the house in every direction. Silk was draped over the gleaming banisters, and a brilliantly-embroidered fiery-orange carpet drew the eye up the main stairway.

"That's where we'll announce dinner," Aunt Clementine was giving a few last-minute instructions to a pair of exhausted-looking maidponies. Don Valencio and Sugar Sweet stood on either side of her. His suit was midnight-black and sharp enough to draw blood. Sugar's dress obscured her in rolls of yellow and orange lace. She shot Applejack a quick glare when she and Braeburn came in, then returned to listening to her mother.

"So _do_ make sure that the bunting stays absolutely prim. And straighten that portrait of Great Uncle Purseval. Again. And remember to keep the Contessa's place set until she gets here, she's flying from Canterlot this evening, so she'll be later on…"

The weary maidponies cantered off to do her bidding. She turned to Valencio.

"Well, I believe that's _absolutely_ everything. Everything, that is, except for—"

Like a roving spotlight, her eye latched on Applejack.

"Jackie! Where _have_ you been? And look at your _dress!_"

Applejack looked down. Despite her efforts, a few solitary red motes clung to her hem.

"Awww, sorry Auntie Clementine. I'll go—"

"_Change_, of course. I'm sorry dear, but there's already too much red in the décor. I don't know what my maidponies were _thinking_. Something brighter, I think—"

And like that, Applejack was whisked away. Again.

Once the donna was completely, _absolutely_ sure that Applejack's clothes would complement the decorations (a process that seemed to require interminable hours of indecision between imperceptibly different shades of pink ("So you'll match Sugar Sweet, of _course_ darling"), before Applejack finally insisted on a pale rose. Braeburn met her in the entrance hall. He was wearing a worn brown suitjacket.

"Weeeeeell, don't you look mighty nice, cuz."

Applejack rolled her eyes.

"I just don't get," she said, "Why she couldn't just have me wear what she wanted beforehand."

Braeburn grinned.

"She suuuure enjoyed putting on your makeup."

Applejack glanced at herself in a gleaming bronze vase. Her face was swaddled in what seemed like a mountain of white powder and rouge.

"I'll say. I hardly noticed, her maidponies were so busy stuffin' me into this _dress_."

"At least you'll match Sugar Sweet."

"Now don't you start that again. The further I can stay from Sugar, the more bearable this party'll be. It'll be bad enough dealin' with Canterlot ponies. When are they arrivin', anyway?"

They both glanced at a tall grandfather clock, off to the side of the atrium.

"Preeeeetty soon, little cuz. You ready?" His eyebrow lifted impishly.

Applejack gave him a smile.

"Course. How bad could it be?"


	5. Meet and Greet

**The Eye of the Storm**

Arrive they did. Earth ponies, mostly, in all manner of elegant and (to applejack's eyes) gaudy formalwear. Mares dripping with jewels and silks, who kept their noses upturned as they entered the great hall. They glittered. Their stallion companions, on the other hand, were all in black, and seemed to absorb the light their partners reflected. Sometimes, they were accompanied by their children: without exception dressed in perfect facsimiles of their parents' attire. Fillies in multicolored silk and lace, colts in jagged black.

As each guest entered, they presented themselves to the Don and Donna di Orange, who magnified the duality of the guests. The Contessa glowed with a light of her own, and engaged each arrival individually, brimming with welcomes and good cheer, a whirlwind of volatility. Her husband was aloof, unreadable, and totally still. Occasionally he would deign to the slightest of nods, usually to the most important-looking and upturned-nose of ponies. On Clementina's other side, Sugar Sweet combined her father's silence with her mother's effervescence, and no guest's entrance was complete without marveling (in louder and grander tones as time went on and each guest attempted to outdo their predecessor) at the absolute perfection of Sugar's smile, her elegant dress (which was a small torch to her mother's bonfire of orange and yellow), and her perfect manners. Only when this ritual was complete would the supplicant be ushered into the party-at-large.

Applejack planned to stay for a little while, exchange a few polite words with whomever Auntie Clementine felt it was absolutely essential for her to meet, and then quietly leave. But that plan rapidly dissolved into so many half-finished goodbyes once the Donna got her hooves around her. There always seemed to be another socialite who she found it "Essential, _absolutely_ essential dear" for her to curtsy to and mince words about the latest inscrutable minutiae. The Donna seemed to attract an endless train of ponies who wanted nothing more than to investigate this new arrival who wiggled uncomfortably in her gown, but who Clementine introduced with the attention-grabbing name of _Apple_. Slowly, the party began to spin. Like a whirlpool of voices and faces surrounded by rocks of intrigue and wit, it pulled her in.

Words and tones spun around her in cacophonous spirals. She turned every way, but there was no escape. Dresses and ponies of every color crowded in on her, stallions and mares and shrill-voiced fillies surrounded her. She was like a tiny minnow caught in a hurricane.

Then, as if a hook had seized her by the arm, she was pulled through the chaos. Then she was at her aunt's side, and Clementine was introducing her again. Applejack's eyes spun.

"Monsignor Meringue, Jackie dear. We were _just_ discussing how wonderful lemon trees might grow in this climate, and thought you might be interested. _Do_ go on, monsignor."

The monsignor was a shriveled old stallion of a faded, acidic-yellow color. His eyes were glassy and pale, but his voice seeped enthusiasm through a shrill whine.

"As I was telling the Donna, the arid and sunny southern climate is simply perfect for mature lemons. The difficulty is in establishing the trees, as their younger specimens are considerably less forgiving. Now, the Fillydelphia Horticultural Society has a cultivar in development that—"

But Donna Clementina cut him off with a fascinated little gasp.

"But once established, the trees would be quite lucrative, I'd imagine?"

His speech disrupted, Meringue fumbled for a long time to coalesce his thoughts again. Finally, after a long series of confused mumbles, Clementina put out a hoof and seized (with the lightest possible—yet irresistible—touch) a passing mare. She was a young-looking grey, but her face was frozen in a perpetual smile as if she feared what might happen if she relaxed it. That, combined with her rather mismatched clothes and overeager, almost obsequious tone, made her whole attitude vaguely off-putting.

"Bottom Line, darling, you _must_ join us," Clementina cooed, "We were just wondering whether you might explain the market perspective on lemons. The monsignor was just remarking on them."

The Donna's tone towards the newcomer was markedly different. Her charm remained constant, but there was a note of condescension on her voice, as if the grey's lack of title made any address to her a favor rather than a courtesy. But it seemed that Line felt the same, and her voice was veritably grateful as she seized the opportunity to join in.

"It'd be a tremendous honor to explain—er, expand, Donna di Orange. The market for lighter citrus has been neglected, ah—constrained for years, as a function of the growing per-capita demand in the outlying colonies, er—territories, itself a function of rising income."

She talked very fast, and she looked fixedly at the ceiling the whole time, which was very annoying. Still, Clementina listened with affected fascination, but kept glancing at Applejack to ensure that she was paying attention. For her part, Applejack did her best to keep up as Bottom Line jumbled on.

"I, that is—some ponies believe that the market is reaching a bottleneck, where demand will outstrip supply so greatly that prices might rise. Therefore, anyone who took the time now to start growing a new crop would be well situated to benefit—ah, profit, from the inevitable crunch."

"But wait a sec," Applejack interrupted, startling everypony present, "Only some ponies have sale rights. My family's had an apple license for generations, and we're the only ones who can sell in Ponyville. How can you make any money if you can't sell what you grow?"

Bottom Line blinked once, then twice. She seemed stymied. Clementina leapt into the gap.

"Because, Jackie dear, rights of sale haven't yet been issued in the so-called Nova Equestria. The Southern settlements such as Appleoosa and Dodge City represent the latest colonizing push of our glorious nation. But they have yet to be incorporated into Equestria proper. Thus, there is an opportunity to—"

"Make hay while the sun shines," Applejack offered.

Clementina smiled.

"In a manner of speaking, Jackie dear. I say, you have simply the _dearest_ ways of phrasing things. But you're quite right: the opportunities for us—that is, the _family_…"

Here she somehow managed to exclude Bottom Line and Monsignor Meringue from the conversation with the smallest shift in stance and tone.

"…could be quite considerable. What do you think of _that_?"

But Applejack was spared from answering by a sharp, sudden chime that pierced through the oppressive fog of conversation. Everypony went quiet, every head turned toward the door and a stallion's voice boomed through the hall.

"Her Serenity, the Contessa Magia di Promenada."


	6. The Donna and the Contessa

Even encircled where she was, and surrounded on every side by dazzling mares and handsome stallions, Applejack gaped at the new arrival, who entered the scene like a brilliant diamond set alongside a collection of uncut gems.

She was a unicorn of middle age, absolute poise, and stunning beauty. Her mane was dazzling platinum-white, and curled gently down her sky-blue flanks. Her silver-tipped hooves made crisp clicks on the marble floor, and a cloak of deepest azure floated behind her. She stood perfectly still in the doorway as a unicorn attendant levitated her cloak away. Underneath, she was dressed in a gauzy, sparkling sunrise-yellow dress that barely seemed to acknowledge gravity, but floated about her like a glittering corona of light. Thus attired, she entered.

Immediately, there was a scramble to reorganize the room. It was almost embarrassing to see stallions and mares who, moments before, wouldn't have budged themselves for anypony, hurriedly excuse themselves from meaningless conversations and rush, as dignified as they could, to get near the new arrival. Husbands and wives scattered, children were forgotten, and friends left in midsentence as everypony tumbled over themselves to greet the Contessa. All this occurred in the barest moment, such that Applejack hardly had an instant to breathe before the scramble was completed.

The few fortunate or ruthless ponies who managed to flash to her side were disappointed, however, when the Contessa ignored them and strode toward the corner where Donna Clementina, Monsignor Meringue, Bottom Line, and Applejack were waiting.

Clementina strode to meet her, Applejack in tow. The slightest glance from the Donna sent Bottom Line fleeing, and the Monsignor sustained his attempt to join them only a few moments more, before, his dignity preserved, he followed the young mare into the ignominy of the general party.

In the few moments before the two parties made contact in the center of the hall, Donna Clementina managed to whisper to Applejack.

"Now Jackie dear, _do_ remember who this is. Try your best, now, won't you?"

Her lips had barely moved, and she knelt low with an elegant smile as the Contessa returned her greeting with the slightest inclination of her horn. Her eyebrow, however, rose in turn as she looked down at Applejack's rather clumsy curtsy. Aunt Clementine scrambled to cover for her.

"Contessa. We're all honored, _so_ honored."

Her Serenity, Magia di Promenada allowed herself a dignified pause and brief survey of the room before answering.

"Donna Clementina. A—" she seemed to turn over various alternatives on the tip of her tongue before settling on "—pleasure."

Nothing in her voice betrayed the slightest lack of enthusiasm, or deficit of courtesy and warmth. Here, it was clear, was a pony that everypony not only should, but should _want_ to know, whose company was pleasure by itself. Yet—and Applejack had no idea if her Aunt had noticed—there was a sense that every word the Contessa spoke was intended as a chore for her and a favor for her listener. Was it coincidence that when she had greeted them, her eyes made the slightest upward glance at Clementine and Applejack's foreheads, and her perfect smile twisted down at the edges?

Clementine seemed oblivious or indifferent to this, and leapt into conversation as if the Contessa were an old friend, as was her manner with new arrivals she desired to impress.

"And have you met my niece, Applejack? On my sister's side, three generations in the capitol district. Jackie, the Contess di Promenada."

Promenada scanned Applejack over. Her eyes were deep, somehow, and flinty grey. It felt uncomfortably like being scrutinized by a bird of prey who is deciding whether its target is worth the trouble. But her eyes widened as she seemed to strike upon a memory, and her eyes swam with warmth again as she smiled.

"The Guardian of Honesty. An honor. The Princess speaks often of you."

"_Does_ she?" Clementine almost oozed satisfaction as she cozied an inch closer to Applejack.

"Of course," Promenada raised her eyebrows, "Surely the provinces have heard of Luna's return, and the second banishment of Discord?"

Naturally, the whole kingdom knew of such things, but by suggesting doubt, the Contessa had thrown Clementine's sophistication into question. She looked terribly flustered for a moment, but recovered quickly.

"Well, of course, my dear Contessa. The family's ever so proud of our little Jackie."

Promenada viewed her coolly over her up-tilted nose.

"I'm sure. Of course, the court is grateful as well. I can only imagine how reassuring it must be to have her here, this far south."

Clementine turned aside this off-hand jap at the surrounds with idle courtesies.

"Not so far. I hope the journey from Canterlot was not unduly difficult?"

Again, the Contessa paused before answering, as if weighing some collection of unseen variables. But her voice was clear and direct, with a perfectly measured rhythm.

"No, not unduly. And it seems the journey was well worth it. Your estate is quite well-appointed, for a provincial holding."

Again, the seeming courtesy that masked the barbed words. But Aunt Clementine went right on smiling as she beckoned for an attendant. He arrived with a silver tray of orange punch.

"How very kind of you, dear Contessa. But come, won't you refresh yourself? It's from our eastern cultivars, very sweet and quite difficult to grow in this climate. You may have encountered it in Canterlot…?

The Contessa levitated a crystal flute, but did not drink. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if coolly considering it.

"I cannot say I have. Summer fruits are not in vogue at court."

She seemed to feel this settled everything, and Clementine let the subject drop. To save appearances, though, she chose two flutes for Applejack and herself, and sipped gently before changing the subject. It soon became clear that the Contessa was playing very, very hard to get. She simply waited for Clementine to begin again, which she did after a long moment.

"Come…won't you tell us about court, Contessa? The town has been absolutely abuzz since the Princess Cadenza's wedding, and we're all anxious to hear more."

Applejack noted that during the conversation's preliminaries, a host of guests had wandered into proximity with the Donna and Contessa. Most made an effort to conceal their intentions, but all were clearly anxious to gain access to the new arrival. This new subject of conversation sent a ruffle of attention through the nearby ponies, and a few made attempts to enter the conversation. All, however, were sternly turned away by the infallible instincts of Donna Clementina, who turned _just so_, and glanced _just right_, such that no pony could approach without violating any of a dozen minor rules of decorum. It seemed—and the guests took note after several failed attempts—that for the time being, Clementina wanted the Contessa to herself.

"All is as might be expected, Donna. Order is restored."

But before she could go on, Clementine gave a silly, affected laugh.

"Oh, please, call me Clementina, my dear. And please, tell us more. Is the court fully recovered from the attack?"

Promenada gave her mane a small toss, as if the question bored her.

"Some are still unnerved by the thought of enemies among us. But one must maintain their faith in Magic, and in the Princess, mustn't we?"

That meant Celestia, presumably. Clementina nodded, almost too vigorously for propriety. Slowly, a suspicion floated up into Applejack's mind.

"Of course! But what of these shapeshifters? Are they as terrible as they sound?"

Promenada gave her a gentle smile, as if reassuring a frightened filly.

"Scheming and numerous, yes. But they have a proven weakness to magic that the court is working to exploit with all haste. Their designs on Equestria are nefarious, be assured, but their presence only reinforces the need for unity, strength, and order."

"Then we can be grateful the Princess is recovered," Clementina suggested, "For she is recovered, isn't she? There were the most dreadful rumors after the wedding…"

Now a strange new look came over Contessa Promenada. On the surface, she still radiated charm and warmth. But in her eyes, Applejack seemed to sense a withdrawal, a guardedness that her beauty and smile couldn't quite fully hide. Or was she imagining things?

"The Princess," the Contess said with a hint of stilted formality, "Is to all appearances fully recovered. She may even take time to review the territory before formal incorporation, distant as it is."

Why was she being so unnecessarily dismissive? To applejack, it just seemed rude. Still, Clementine parried it with more grace this time.

"Oh, yes. But we hardly think of Appleoosa as distant, Contessa. The town has grown ever so much since we moved from Manehattan. I hardly think we would have remained here if we found it too uncomfortable."

"Or less comfortable than the alternative, I suspect," Promenada said with the slightest twist in her smile. For some reason, this seemed to unsettle Clementine. Applejack thought back to what Braeburn had said about Manehattan, and sour lemons…

"Well, my husband's business—"

"Demanded the change of scenery, I am sure. No doubt it was the best decision for all involved. But you say there are no inconveniences to living so…far from society?"

"Nothing worth complaining about. And…as I said, the town has developed a most charming citizenry as of late. One…hardly feels away from home at all, with so many…interesting and…important ponies."

She gave another self-conscious little giggle, and again Applejack marveled at the effect that the Contessa had on her aunt. Clearly, the radiant Canterlot royal was absorbing her attention as no other pony had. The surrounding guests hesitated in their conversations, sensing an opening into her company. For her part, Promenada seemed satisfied to watch Clementina scramble for her favor.

"Oh?

Promenada's line of discussion seemed to have broken Clementine's poise. Only the most frantic of maneuvers kept the other guests at bay, during which she smiled as if nothing was wrong, smiled at the Contessa with (and perhaps only Applejack saw this) a faint desperation.

"Oh…oh, yes. Oh, but you must meet my husband."

In an instant, as if at some hidden signal, Valencio di Orange was at her side. He spared the barest glance at Applejack before, perhaps sensing his wife's rising concern, he bent all his charm towards Promenada.

"Your Serenity."

His bow was one of perfect poise and calculation, one that gave every semblance of courtesy whilst retaining all rights of dignity. A bow, Applejack mused, that might have been perfected over years of practice.

For her part, Promenada seemed favorably impressed, and returned his greeting with noticeably more warmth then she had given Clementina. Perhaps she'd simply wanted to speak to Velencio all along, and found Clementina a distraction, or simply tired of idle talk, for she remarked immediately on the orchards she had seen during her arrival. A pity, Applejack thought, that Rarity wasn't here. She could undoubtedly translate the subtleties involved with more sophistication. That said, Applejack was simply pleased that her uncle's arrival seemed to even the odds.

"Yes, we take considerable pride in our work," Valencio said, "The labor and investment involved—time and money—has not been inconsiderate."

Clementine had recovered sufficiently to adopt an almost girlish enthusiasm.

"But it's all been worth it, knowing how the Princess appreciates dedication."

Promenada allowed herself a wry grin, as if bemused by something shat she only knew.

"Yes, of course. The princess has many plans for the southern territories. Those who aid in their fulfillment will always be…appreciated."

A shadow of satisfaction passed over Clementine's face.

"Yes, you must tell us of these plans. We hold a charming society here, of course, but one hears so little news from Court. Won't you tell us of the future, my dear Contessa?"

Again Promenada smiled her thin, bemused smile. It was not unlike, Applejack thought as a shiver went down her back, the way a cat might smile at a mouse.

"If you insist. The incorporation of the southern territories proceeds apace. But you would know that, of course, Donna."

She did of course, at least as it pertained to Appleoosa. But by suggesting that she knew of the rest (which Clementine might well be interested in) she forced her to pay a price for inquiring further. Unless…

"Oh, I've a terrible mind for geography," which was no admission of weakness at all, and neatly sidestepped the problem, "Do tell more, Magia dear."

"Very well," And she did.

They played an elegant game, one which Applejack could recognize but not fully appreciate, let alone add to. She might have recognized that her aunt had expected to gain far more then she had by her association with her niece. In brushing Applejack off with a few meaningless compliments, the Contessa had raised the stakes for Clementine. Thus, it would have come as no surprise to another, better versed in the game's subtleties—Rarity, she mused, would enjoy this, and Twilight could at least play decently well—when Valencio and Clementine began scooping ponies out of the crowd. Important ponies, rich ponies, glamorous ponies: any guest that the Donna and Don thought might give them traction with the Contessa, were pressed into service for that goal. Most, Applejack mused, might well have been invited solely for that purpose.

But the Donna's focus on Promenada gave her what she had been hoping for: a chance to escape. It wasn't that she disliked her aunt, but the experience of being near her at one of her…events was like lying under a noonday sun without a wide hat. And now, as she was challenged by this newcomer—more challenged then she expected, no doubt—it was as if two thunderstorms had clashed in battle. Applejack slipped away in the confusion: she had never much liked getting rained on.


	7. Everything Nice

She looked for Braeburn. He'd vanished with the first rising winds of high society, either pulled into some back-corner discussion against his will, clustered with the few friends that he cared to exchange real words with, or else—and Applejack was ruefully jealous on this last possibility—vanished from the party altogether. Whichever was the truth, she would rather spend the evening with him then with any other of the pained, prancing, pridefuls that made up Appleoosan society.

She wound her way through stallions and mares, foals and colts. There were many colors, and combinations of colors, and permutations of fabric and pattern. A nautical individual might compare it to riding out a hurricane: not so much navigation as endurance, and relying more on fortune than skill to achieve a particular destination. But nowhere in the folds of silk and whirlpools of conversation did she find Braeburn.

At last she spotted him, wedged against the entrance-hall side-wall. She scrambled through the crowd towards him. He might have glanced in her direction, but by the time she reached the far side, he had disappeared. She looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen.

So she wandered, hesitant to ditch her Aunt's big night, but leery of being drawn into the eye of the storm again. She stuck to the walls, and wandered around the room. Without her aunt guiding her on, she was a relative nobody. She passed Promenada once, and the Contessa barely glanced in her direction. Did she lower her voice too, as she talked to a narrow-eyed banker-pony in a drab suit. Applejack rolled her eyes subtly as she could, and went on.

"Say, Sugar, isn't that your cousin?"

Applejack stopped and spun her eyes to the side. There was Sugar Spice and her two compadres, a little further out in the room. They were talking in half-whispers and glancing in her direction just often enough to make it patently obvious what their object was.

"Well, _second_ cousin. And she's an _Apple_."

Her friends tittered sympathetically, as if she'd confided an onerous but necessary burden. Of course, Applejack could ignore them, but they'd made themselves so obvious that they'd see that as retreat. So she did the one thing they probably didn't expect: she approached them.

"Heya Sugar. Having a good time?"

Sugar Spice rolled her eyes and her friends snickered at her nonverbal wit.

"Well, I was. Everypony who matters is here, after all. Of course, you might not recognize them all, but don't feel bad about that."

That, of course, was calculated to evoke just the opposite, but the blade was dulled somewhat by her aunt's efforts. But Applejack wasn't about to throw that back in Sugar's face, since her little cousin had probably just felt abandoned by her mother's undisguised favoritism.

"Well, you probably like meeting gentleponies more than me. I'd rather be planting, or talking with my friends."

"Oh, would you? Have many of those, do you, in that hamlet you live in. Ponyville, right?"

That confirmed it. All of Equestria knew that Ponyville was the largest town in the capitol district, after Canterlot itself. Unlike Appleoosa, it was marked on maps. For sure, and Applejack felt sad for her, Sugar Spice was feeling the effects of her family's dislocation to the rural South. Why else would she cling to the company of smalltime sycophants, and constantly throw unfounded barbs at her more famous cousin? A delicate touch was needed.

"Sure. Listen, Sugar, I bet your mother would love to introduce you to some of her guests. Contessa Promenada is…well, you might like her."

But Sugar Spice turned up her nose, and her friends hopeful looks were quashed.

"I'm sure I've already met anypony worth knowing. And if you think you can impress _me_ by name-dropping, you're more provincial than…well, than anypony."

With that, she stormed off with her compatriots in tow. Applejack had a sudden urge to follow after, stop her, and try to explain everything: how she understood, how she didn't want her aunt's attention, how everything she'd done to feed the young filly's insecurities hadn't been on purpose. It was pity mixed with shame garnished with frustration.

But the feeling passed, as a new emotion took hold. Aunt Clementine was approaching, clearly gunning for her. A rapid cycle of emotions: fear, desperation, and finally despair ran through her heart as her aunt closed in. There was no hope, no escape. The winds grasped her and she was sucked into the storm.


	8. Snigger at the Snooties

The train enters the station with the sound of screaming metal cats. That is, if cats were made of metal, which they aren't, silly. But if they were, and if they screamed as hard as they could, well, that'd be what the train sounds like as it stops.

I—that is, Pinkie— skip, hop, and jump, although always not in that order, down the street. We smile at everypony, but not everypony smiles back. Some of them smile front. The only pony I ever saw smile sideways broke half the bones in their face doing it.

But too many of the townsponies don't smile at all. Their noses are too high in the air, or too low to the gutter. It looks like they're in need of a good cheering up. Not to mention a nosing down. Take care of that, would you, Pinkie Pie?

Certainly, madame. I only wished you'd called me sooner. No one knows how to proscribe smiles like she does.

Well, really, it was princess Celestia who called me. Or wrote me, because ponies don't have telephones, silly. That's what dragons are for. Gosh, SOMEPONY failed kindergarten.

But first thing's first, unless it's a book, because sometimes those have prequels. You know Pinky helped write a book once? Of course you did. You're me! But of course, I'm me. I guess we're we. Or not. For now…

All this thinking is making me tired. Sometimes I feel like I'm thinking for THIS MANY ponies. Oh, you couldn't see that, could you? Maybe you need glasses. Do ponies have glasses? Of course they do, silly: how else would they drink their eye juice? Other than a straw, I mean.

Applejack. Pinkie Pie needs to find Applejack. Or is it the other way around? Does she need to find ME? Oh no.

I've LOST MYSELF!

Oh, there you are.

Anyway, Princess Celestia seemed very worried, and that's no good at all. When you frown you frown alone, but when CELESTIA frowns the whole kingdom frowns with her. And that's no good. At. All. Gotta make everypony smile. Every. Pony.

But first, gotta find Applejack. Today, Applejack. Tomorrow, Equestria.

Gonna be difficult, with this many ponies. Hard to see over them, too. I jump up, down, and sideways to look over the crowd. I hang down from the top and check out everypony's face. No Applejack.

Wait. That pony kinda looks like Applejack. Sounds like her too. But she tastes totally different. Oh well, two out of three aint bad. It IS her! Can't you tell? It's the way she wears that fancy chiffon dress she's got on. She looks really uncomfortable. Pink just isn't her color.

But it is Pinky's, so she pops out of one of the sleeves. You think she'd be used to that by now, but no, it's punch in her poor neighbor's face. The liquid kind, silly. Wow, your eyes really _are_ terrible, aren't they? But at least she smiles.

Say, is this a party? No pony seems to be having any fun. In fact, it looks like they're kinda sick. GASP! They're not just SICK, they've got a fever. And the only proscription is more PINKIE!

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hay, oats, remember that time she said that the guests at that one not-party had a fever? That wasn't quite right but they DID look pretty hot. No, not like _that_. It was the dress, you see. That doesn't help much, does it?

Anyway, it sure is hot, even at night. Doctor Pinkie proscribes a POOL PARTY!

CANNONBALL!

Man, tough crowd. Wet, too. Tasty orange punch, though. Mmmmmmm. Still no smiles.

I didn't want to play this card so early, but you gotta play what you're given. And Celestia gave me feet for dancing and lungs for singing. And hooves for 'borrowing' accordions. Out of the case I pop, armed and dangerous.

Alright everypony, time for the Pinkie Polka!


	9. Night Life

"Moooooooootheeeeeer!" The sound was like a thousand sour apples going through a poorly-oiled cider press all at once.

"Yes, Sugar?"

Donna Clementina di Orange was in her absolute element, which was somewhere on the periodic table between "Socializing" and "Plotting". Either way, it was a noble gas. She'd monopolized the Contessa for as long as she could, but finally demurred to her guests, some of whom were visibly twitching with anticipation.

Now the Donna was entertaining the lesser dignitaries, whilst keeping close to the center of the room. Yet between sipping imperceptible quantities of punch from an ever-full champagne flute, carrying on half a dozen conversations about everything from the weather to Canterlot gossip, and maintaining her place as the absolute epicenter of absolutely _everything_, she'd still managed to block off Applejack's every line of escape. And now the _delightful_ Sugar Spice had joined them, her makeup the exact copy of her mother's, with the small exception that it was dripping down her face in white and orange streaks.

"Mother, that pink pony has simply ruined absolutely _everything!_ I don't think she was even _invited_."

Clementina didn't look at her daughter, but gave a far-off pony a little wave, and chuckled at a friend's joke as she talked out of the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, she was invited. I received the letter from Canterlot this morning. A special friend of the Princess." Her voice was low, and she kept a smile frozen on her face as she nodded to a dignified stallion who strode by.

"_Celestia?!_" Sugar Spice exclaimed.

In a small sphere around the Donna, the conversation momentarily calmed as a few ponies turned their heads. Clementina snapped her gaze at her daughter.

"Quite, dear, and I'm _certainly_ not going to spurn a friend of the Princess over something as trivial a little spilled punch. Now _do_ go wash up, darling. You look simply terrible."

She'd turned back to her third conversation, a longwinded discussion of court intrigue with a tottering old stallion and elegant-looking young mare, and was about to drag Applejack into it for the umpteenth time when she saw an escape route.

"Actually, Aunt Clementine, I think I'd better go say hello. She's my friend, you see—"

But to her surprise, no further explanation was necessary.

"Celestia's guest, _your_ friend? Oh, you should have _said_ something, dearie. By all means, do go. And— "

She leaned in close.

"If it's no trouble, _do_ try and keep her out of the punch."

Applejack gave her a reassuring smile and high-tailed it out of there. She caught the first snippets of the conversation.

"Yes, it's _polka_, I believe. A_ peasants'_ dance, you know…"

Pinkie (snorkel-equipped) was blowing bubbles in the punch (the _third _bowl, a pair of stallions scoffed as she passed) when Applejack scurried up to her.

"Pinkie Pie, am I glad to see you! You gotta' save me…"

Pinkie's head plunged into the punch and out of a nearby cup. She blew a stream of punch from her snorkel-spout and gave Applejack a huge orange-tinted grin.

"From what?

Applejack crouched behind the table and lowered her voice.

"My relations. My Aunt Clementine's determined to introduce me to everypony in the whole town. More than once, if she can manage it. And Sugar Spice…she keeps changing dresses. I don't know how she does it."

"In a changing room, of _course…_"

"And Uncle Valencio keeps trying to convince me that the family needs to reorganize the farm hire-archaically. More marginal profit, he says. Keeps wavin' fancy papers in my face. And then there's this froofy-doofy Contessa di Magia. I'd almost believe she was unhappy to see me. She shuts up like a clam when I'm nearby. And Braeburn's gone missing _again_. I swear, he keeps leavin' me with these dang relations, almost like he's _avoidin' _me…"

A particularly snooty couple walked around the table. Applejack looked around for somewhere to hide. Finally, she plunged her head into a punch bowl. Pinkie Pie said something that came out as a stream of bubbles.

"What?" But her voice was no less garbled.

When the couple had passed, she ducked behind the table again. Pinkie's head came out from under it.

"I saaaaaid, do you wanna go find him?" Pinkie's legs clambered onto the table and she crawled out from under it.

Applejack gave a happy little whinny that drew more attention than she would have liked.

"Yeah! Maybe he can explain why he keeps ditchin' me."

They crept away from the party. Away from the lights and music, Appleoosa was quiet. A few ponies wandered down the street, shadowed under the storefronts. Here and there a stallion lay on a side-street, deep in his salt. A small band of scraggly buffalo meandered along, constantly looking every direction. These were the inhabitants of an Appleoosa after dark, whose more respectable citizens had either closed their windows or reveled in the town square.

"Sooooo where do ya think he could be?" Pinkie was looking in barrels and sticking her head under cobblestones, but Applejack just looked around.

"He can't be far, 'cause he keeps coming back to the party."

"Why don't we ask someone?" Pinkie leapt in front of a nervous and flighty-looking stallion.

"Saaaaaaay, have you seen—" But he jumped and bolted down an alleyway before she could finish.

"Oh, come ON, you didn't even give me a chance."

"There, is that him?

Applejack spotted a pony, with her cousin's hat and color down the street, hidden by an awning's shadow. He was in a close ring with three other ponies, all talking in low voices. Applejack cantered over.

"Hey, cuz, is that you?"

But the moment she raised her voice, all four of them bolted. Down an alley they went their faces shadowed and inscrutable. Applejack gave chase.

The alley was unlit, and she barely managed to weave around trash and bricks as she pursued the shadowy figures into the dark. They turned a corner sharply, and she skittered past before changing direction and rushing after to find—"

Nothing. Nothing but a two-story dead end and a pile of sand. Pinkie Pie slid down the building on her right as Applejack caught her breath and looked around.

"Wheeeeeere'd they go?"

"Something funny's going on, Pinkie. That was Braeburn, or I'm a sourdough pretzel. But what's he doing out in the dark, talking all sneaky-like? And why'd he run away from me? It's not like him…"

Pinkie started pacing back and forth.

"Indeed! It almost seems…mysterious!" She whipped on her detective hat, and plucked her pipe from thin air. "He's talking suspiciously in dark alleys, and running from his closest relation. Not to mention, he ditched a party! And what's more—!"

Applejack swiped the hat and pipe before she could go on.

"Mysterious, sure, but not hard to solve. I'll just ask him tomorrow. He can't lie to me, not his cousin. Then we'll know what all this trouble's about. Still, weird."

Pinkie sighed longingly as Applejack put away her detective gear. But she perked up as they started back towards the house.

"Well, at least tonight was fun. Wait until Princess Celestia hears that we got into a chase!"

Applejack stopped, and looked her in the eyes.

"I…uh, I don't think we should bother Princess Celestia about this."

"Whyyyyyyyy not?"

"Well, the princess is real busy. I wouldn't want to…to add to her worries. We'll figure this out on our own."

Pinkie squinted suspiciously at her.

"Is that reeeaaaaaally why?"

Applejack looked aside.

"Well, it's also my cousin Braeburn. I wouldn't want to get him in trouble for no reason."

"But he ditched a party. A PARTY Applejack!"

Applejack couldn't help but smile.


	10. Arsenic and Hot Chocolate

When they returned to the house, the guests were giving their farewells to Donna Clementina in turn. However, they kept them perfunctory, so as to spend as much time saying goodbye to the Contessa, who acknowledged each with the same exquisite courtesy, granting nothing but leaving everypony with the sense that they were richer for the experience.

Applejack reached her aunt's side as the last few guests trotted away. Clementina was nearly unrecognizable: her eyes drooped, her dress sagged, and her makeup was beginning to smudge at the edges. Still, she retained a steely glint in her eye. By contrast, Promenada was as radiant as she had been when she entered the manor all those busy, busy hours ago. Yet she seemed bored, as conveying a silent sense of disappointment. Still, Clementine gathered up the energy to bid her farewell in a most gracious and courteous fashion, begging her to return again, and to take the family's fondest wishes back to court. Don Valencio broke his usual stoicism to express the same, and they were both rewarded with something not unlike warmth from the Contessa. Leaving them flush with victory, her carriage lifted into the skies on strong wingbeats.

Once every last guest was out of sight, Clementine walked primly back inside, shut the door with one back hoof, and collapsed. Immediately Applejack was at her side, but she waved her niece away.

"Now, now, Jackie, don't worry about me. I'm just _absolutely_ overwhelmed…"

"Yer tuckered, Auntie. Best get you to bed."

Clementine gave an absent nod.

"Yes, yes. Quite right, dearie. Help me along, would you?"

Applejack did just that, and left her aunt snoring on a divan in the drawing room, her head up against a mound of silk cushions. All around, the rooms that had bulged with light and sound and movement were silent and still. Applejack wandered from room to room until she came upon the kitchens, where Pinkie Pie was making hot chocolate. With turkey basters. Taking squirts of boiling water one by one, she shot them into mugs with cocoa powder.

"Uh, why you making it that way?"

Pinkie rolled her eyes as only Pinkie could. The world almost seemed to spin.

"Aeration, of course. _Duuuuh_!"

Applejack raised an eyebrow.

"And the freezer is opened because...?"

"Air conditioning, _obviously_."

Applejack's other eyebrow went up as well.

"And there's a live chicken in the toaster oven over because…?"

Pinkie froze and rotated one eye into view of the sleeping hen, nestled safely in the rectangular toaster slot. Rolling it back to Applejack, she shrugged.

"I dunno. Ask her."

They drank their hot chocolate there in the kitchen, with the freezer closed and the windows open. It was sweet, but more wholesome and filling then the punch. Cool night air wafted in from the open fields.

"Say, Pinkie," Applejack said when she'd had a sip, and settled back to blow on it, "Why'd ya come all the way down to Appleoosa? You never did say."

Pinkie finished her chocolate in one gulp, then took a bite of the cup."

"Mmm. Crunchy. Weeeeeeeell, it's an awfully fun town. Kinda lame parties, though. Still, I like to be where the party is, lame or not."

Applejack let that stand for a moment, but pressed on.

"It didn't have anything to do with the Princess, did it?"

Pinkie nodded.

"Yeah, she said you might need help. Something about," her voice went low and pregnant with melodrama, "Unrest in the realm."

"That's all she said?"

"Oh, there was something about economic sabotage and concealed informants, but I kinda skimmed that part. Here, you try and stay awake."

Pinkie dipped into her saddlebag and pulled out a regal-looking envelope. It had been badly bent, but the letter inside was perfectly readable. Applejack took a minute to go through it.

"I thought so."

Pinkie's eyebrows rose.

"Really? Seemed more like knitting to me." Ethereal rimshots rang out.

Applejack rolled her eyes and scanned the latter again.

"No, listen… '…concerned for the ponies of Appleoosa, who live on the edge of Equestria, without the protection of magic or warriors. I have reason to believe that _spies_ and _saboteurs _are at work in the South, spreading disharmony and unhappiness.'"

"Yeah, like I said: sabotage, spies, blah blah blah.

"Pinkie Pie, this is important. This could mean that the changelings are back in Equestria. Here, in Appleoosa. And Braeburn…" Her eyes widened.

Pinkie gasped.

"You don't think…Braeburn is really…FAKEburn?"

Applejack looked aside, her brows low and her eyes uncertain.

"I…I don't know. You remember how hard it was for us to spot that Princess Cadence wasn't…well, Cadence. But Braeburn's my cousin. Aint no way he could hide something like that from me. And he's been acting normal…except…"

"What? What what whatwhatwhat?

"Well, he was awfully glum about the weather. And he sounded pretty chilly on Clementine and her family. But that don't mean he's not the real Braeburn!"

This last declaration was practically a shout. Applejack blushed, but no pony came along to complain. A few rooms away, her aunt snored. Pinkie, though, looked skeptical.

"Well, could we at leeeeeeast do some detectiving?"

Applejack thought for a moment and nodded.

"Sure. I'll talk to Braeburn tomorrow, and then we'll see. There's something funny going on in Appleoosa. Let's find out what."


	11. Uptown, Downtown

But Braeburn wasn't at breakfast the next morning. And he wasn't among the Apple family who headed out to the orchards afterwards. Aunt Clementine shrugged off the question when Applejack asked her about it.

"Oh, little Brae is never around when you need him. You'd almost think he didn't want to be part of the family. Now have some more quiche, Jackie dear."

Four courses later, Applejack finally excused herself and bolted for the kitchen. Pinkie was there, taking bites out of food as weary-eyed servants took them from the oven. They seemed resigned to the pink pony's predations on their precious pastries.

"Ready to go?" Applejack asked.

Pinkie gave a vigorous nod with her cheeks bulging, and took a final bite of a pie before reconsidering and gulping the shoveling thing down. The flighty-looking maidpony holding the tin gave a small squeak and fled.

The two of them, Applejack with her saddlebag and Pinkie still licking crumbs from her face, walked toward town.

"Well, Braeburn's vanished. Maybe we'll find him in town."

Pinkie wiped away the last crumb, and raised one eyebrow.

"Or maaaaaaaybe," and her voice went ominous, "He's plotting the most dastardly designs for the destruction of decency everywhere in Equestria!"

She gasped for breath. Applejack rolled her eyes.

"No such worry, Pinkie. Braeburn is not a spy. We'll find him and prove it."

But Braeburn was nowhere to be seen in town. Up and down they searched, peeking into barbershops and past swinging saloon doors. He wasn't in the general store, or in the schoolhouse. He wasn't on Main Street, or any sidestreet, backstreet, or alleyway. More than once, Applejack had to beg the pardon of a pony who she tripped over peeking down back alleyways. Once, a sleepy-eyed buffalo leapt up and growled at them when Applejack called Braeburn's name. But no matter how often they looked and called, he simply wasn't there.

Finally, they were scouring Main Street for a third time, jostling with ponies and weaving in between crowds. Pinkie turned to Applejack.

"Weeeeeell, he might not be a changeling, but are we sure he's not a ghost?"

Applejack ignored her and stood on a barrel for a better view. She looked around, and a glint of light caught her eye.

"Of course!"

She leapt down and scampered off. Pinkie barely kept pace as they dodged around carriages and past offended-looking gentleponies.

"What's up?"

They emerged on the far side of the street, and Applejack pointed with one hoof.

A silver six-pointed star hung on a façade, with stenciled letters reading "Sherriff". Applejack cantered up to the door.

"Sherriff Silverstar! He'll be able to help us, for sure."

Applejack went to open the door when a brash young colt bolted out, spinning her around and nearly knocking her over before bolting away. Head spinning, she carefully opened the door.

The office was a maelstrom of activity. Ponies were leaping every direction, carrying papers, boxes, or trays of sandwiches and coffee. Everypony seemed to be talking—yelling, really—and moving around at the same time. The room was dusty and cramped compared to the immaculately cleaned stores they'd looked into. The windows were shaded, and several raw wooden desks were crammed into the corners. All were cluttered with papers and miscellaneous paperweights, cups, half-eaten sandwiches, and an immeasurable ocean of pencil shavings.

Applejack leapt into the fray, trying to make her way around deputies and secretaries, dodging mugs of scalding coffee and upended sandwiches. Finally, she found the back office.

Three ponies were all talking to Silverstar at once. He was standing behind a shabby-looking, cluttered desk, and his moustache was twitching ever so slightly.

It became quickly obvious that with three ponies talking at once, no one would say anything properly. They kept repeating themselves and tripping over each other's' words, and generally getting nowhere. Finally, Silverstar put his hoof down.

"Gosh darnit, you three, that's enough!" They shut up.

"Now Red, get a deputy down to the saloon and check out the damage. Haversack, see if Professor Laudanum won't reconsider his complaint. And Maverick: get over to West street and get Miss Gentile's cat down her tree. Again. Move your mangy manes!"

Jumping, the three scampered from the office and left Silverstar to sigh, put his head down on his desk and close his eyes. Applejack started to knock as gently as she could on the doorframe, but Pinky bolted past and screamed right in his ear.

"SHERRIF SILVERSTAR!"

Slowly, one of his eyelids opened up. The one eye squinted into the bright pink face thrust into his own. It closed, and the sheriff let out another long, weary sigh.

"Pinkie Pie. Just my luck."

He hauled his head up and extended a hoof. Pinkie seized it with her usual enthusiasm and shook the sheriff up and down. Applejack hurried in and put a hoof on her shoulder.

"I think you've said hello to the poor fellow, Pinkie. Good to see you again, Sheriff Silverstar."

Silverstar nodded to her gratefully as Pinkie grudgingly released his hoof.

"Applejack. A pleasure. What brings you to Appleoosa?"

"Well, that's a mite tricky question, Sheriff. Right now, we're looking for Braeburn. Don't suppose you've seen him?"

Silverstar blinked.

"Braeburn? He not in the fields?"

"He's not ANYWHERE!" Pinkie burst out, "It's almost like he's…a GHOST!"

"Not that again, Pinkie," Applejack said, "We're sorry to bother you, Sheriff. We just need to ask my cuz' something important. Looks like yer busy, though."

Silverstar scowled.

"Busy don't cover it. Town's ten times as big, but do they give me a bigger office? No ma'am."

As if to underscore his point, a frizzy-maned yellow mare burst in and threw a bulging envelope onto his desk. Without a word to anypony, she turned and rushed out of sight.

Silverstar sighed and opened the folder. His moustache drooped. Pinkie thrust her head in front of his and rolled her eyes down the page.

"Ooooooh, a robbery! How mysteeeeeerious!"

Silverstar waved her away with a scowl.

"No such thing. Some fool buffalo ate too many pies and "stampeded" a china shop. Then somepony carried off whatever wasn't broken. Never gonna find _those_."

He tossed the first file into a bulging wastebasket and peeked at the next one. But Pinky was there first.

"Aha! Disappearing pies! How siiiiinister."

Silverstar scowled at her again, but tossed the file without a glance. It hit the crammed wastebasket and slid onto the floor, followed by a small landslide of others. Silverstar ignored it.

"Er…sheriff?" Applejack said.

He didn't look up.

"Somethin' else you need, little Apple?"

Applejack ignored the 'little'.

"Actually, I was wondering the opposite. Looks like Appleoosa's got a right mountain of troubles. Anything we can do?"

Silverstar paused and gave her a hard look. But his moustache curled up a bit.

"Well I'll be. You are Braeburn's cousin after all. Darn fool is always bitin' off more than he can chew. You serious?"

Pinkie beat Applejack to the punch.

"You betcha', Mr. Sheriff Silverstar sir! You can count on us!"

He huffed, but Applejack thought he detected a smile.

"Well, alright then. Consider yourselves deputized. I think I got just the job for you."

"Say the word chief!" Pinkie stood up ramrod straight and saluted.

"Well, you remember how you helped us out with the buffalo last year? Well, things aint been much better. They stay away from the orchards, but there's a whole rut of 'em in town, makin' trouble. This china shop business…" he fished it from the pile at his feet, "…is just the latest. Now I aint got nowhere talkin' with Chief Thunderhooves. Maybe you can make him get his folks in line. He sure as heck don't listen to me."

He leaned down and pulled a huge folder from a drawer. He dropped it down and the desk shook.

Applejack's eyes bulged, and she grunted as she heaved it into her saddlebag.

"All these are problems with the buffalo? What's goin' on, Sheriff?"

"Braves causin' trouble, actin' up. Sometimes they get into gangs and ruckus around. Generally makin' a menace of themselves. Don't let nopony tell 'em what to do. And it's a pity because plenty of 'em work hard in the orchards during the day, and then cause trouble at night. We'd fire 'em, but they're strong workers, and we need 'em, with so many ponies to feed."

Applejack strapped her bag shut.

"How come no one's talked to the Chief before? Has this been goin' on for a while?"

Silverstar gave her a strange look, and sighed.

"I've…well, I've tried. Just…just go. You'll see. Chief Thunderhooves, he…well, things have changed, little missy. And be careful. It ain't pretty.


	12. Where the Buffalo Roamed

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived at the stomping grounds.

They were greeted with a mix of friendly faces and strangely sullen looks. One young warrior who recognized her led them into the herd's encampment.

Much was as she recalled: the hot, rich musk that filled her nose and thickened the air, the broad shoulders of the warriors and gangly awkwardness of the calves. The Old Mothers tending to the children, and the young braves sharpening their horns on the rocks.

But something was different. There were fewer children, more grey in the herd, and everywhere there was weariness in bodies and dullness in eyes. Even the warriors seemed tired and haggard. The few games of head-butting she saw held a fraction of the fury she remembered. Where the plains had thundered with their charges, there was a stagnant calm. And in the warm, musky air was a new scent. She knew it instantly, had known it from her earliest memories. Butter, sugar…and apples.

The warriors parted and she saw Chief Thunderhooves. She stopped with a start.

"Chief Thunderhooves?!"

He had doubled in size, so his tangled mane lay atop mounds and rolls of flesh, and his skinny sticklike legs sprawled out from his bulk as he lay on his side. His face, buried in greasy fur, was swelled and red, and crusted with sugar and crumbs. Pie tins lay everywhere around him. He was lazily licking an empty dish that he held over his face, eyes closed in something like ecstasy.

One of the warriors stepped forward and whispered in his ear as she approached. He grunted, brushed him away. Again, the buffalo stepped forward and murmured to the chief. Thunderhooves opened one eye, blinked at Applejack. After a moment he looked away and returned to slowly licking the wet, crusted pie tin.

Pinkie gaped. Applejack decided to try herself.

"Chief Thunderhooves, it's me. Applejack."

The warrior who had murmured in his ear shook his head, moved away from the chief. He spoke with a rumble that was deep and soft and sad.

"He will be like this for some hours yet. It is always so, when he has been deep in the pies. He will neither recognize nor acknowledge anyone until the daze has passed."

But Applejack pushed forward to Thunderhooves' side. She loudly and slowly, almost yelling in his ears, with a short pause between each word.

"Chief Thunderhooves, it's Applejack. We met a few years back? We need to talk about Appleoosa…"

With a huff, Thunderhooves rolled away from her, and fumbled for another tin, less scoured then the last. Over his mounded body, she heard slurping and licking.

Her eyes furrowed. No one ignored the Apple family. She lifted her voice to a yell.

"CHIEF THUNDERHOOVES! I. Need. To. Talk. With. You. NOW GET YERSELF UP!

The licking stopped. Applejack waited for the chief to turn over and look at her. After a moment, she heard snores.

Her mouth hung open as another buffalo approached her from the side.

"Best to leave him, little one. Sleep is the only peace he has these days."

His name was Sunmane, with bright, amber fur, and he boiled sweet-grass tea as he talked. On the horizon, the sun was falling towards the earth and mountain-shadows splintered across the land.

"At first, the earth-ponies brought us all the pies we could eat. We gorged ourselves on them, so rich and hot and full of joy they were. We would lie for hours, enjoying the taste that lingered in our mouths, and the sweet fog that came over our heads. Some days, when we had eaten from dawn, we even forgot to run. We grew fat and happy and each day we looked forward to the next feast."

"Soon, even the sweetest grass lost its joy for us. We only wanted the pies, and pie was all we had. Sunshine and rain, friendship and love, nothing was more important than the pies, once a buffalo had tasted them."

"Soon, though, the ponies stopped bringing us so many. They said they didn't have enough, although they had more apples than ever. We took what they gave us anyway, and didn't complain. Every day they sent fewer and fewer, until he could hardly fill ourselves anymore."

"Soon, some of us were so desperate for more that we went to the ponies and begged them for more. Now the strongest braves don't butt or run, but go to labor in the orchards from sunrise to darkness, in return for a few slices. The rest of us make do as we can, although Chief Thunderhooves always demands a portion of the herd's stock. He hardly moves any more. He lies in his dishes and dreams of more.

Applejack held a sullen silence, and barely glanced at the cup of tea he pushed to her. Pinkie, though, threw it back and raised her voice.

"Well, I don't get it. I mean, everyone loves apple pies…but getting hooked on them? How's that work? It'd be like getting hooked on parties! How can a good thing be…_bad?_"

Sunmane shook his head sadly.

"We don't know, little one. Perhaps we're unused to them. Perhaps they affect us differently. But once we taste the pies, we lose ourselves to them."

Pinkie Pie sat up arrow-straight.

"Well, it's obvious then. Docter Pinkie never thought she'd say thing, but enough is enough. No more pies.

Applejack nodded with approval.

"Pinkie's right. We'll go down to Appleoosa right now, tonight. We'll explain everything, and they'll cut off the pies. Then Chief Thunderhooves will have to stop and listen."

She had half started away when Sunmane shook his head again.

"If only it were that simple. You don't think the town knows about this? Of course they know. Perhaps they knew from the very beginning. Perhaps this was their plan. We don't know. All we know is that our youngest and strongest labor in their orchards for crusts, and waste themselves in the gutters at night, too ashamed or too uncaring to return to where they belong."

Pinkie narrowed her eyes in a most uncharacteristic fashion.

"But that's…that's just…that's no fun at ALL!"

He looked at her with sad, sad eyes, and said nothing.

"Where's Little Strongheart?" Applejack burst out.

Sunmane turned to her, and his eyes went darker.

"That's a sad tale, little one. Full of shame and regret."

Applejack continued to ignore her tea, and furrowed her brows.

"Well, I'm asking. He's her father."

There was a long silence, punctuated by wheezing breaths from sleeping buffalo. Finally, Sunmane sighed, and looked to the ember-blue horizon.

"She left. Not long after the trouble started. She tried everything she could think of to help her father, but he just sank deeper and deeper into his pies. Finally, she gave up. Plenty who felt as disgusted as she did followed. Perhaps a third of the tribe."

"When did this happen?"

"A few months ago. Chief Thunderhooves hasn't spoken of her since. He forbids mention of her in his presence. But sometimes…sometimes we hear him call her name in his sleep."

Sunmane invited them to stay for the night, but Applejack declined. Partly, she didn't want her aunt to worry, but privately, she was beginning to be sick at the smell of pie.


	13. Appleoosa After Dark

The sun was melting into the horizon when they returned to town. Appleoosa was quiet, and only a few ponies remained on the streets. But—and Applejack felt her guts twist when she saw them—there were buffalo lounging in the alleyways or meandering oblivious in the streets. Once, she saw a shopkeeper drive off a confused-looking buffalo with a shower of rocks. He couldn't have been more than a few years old, and his eyes were dull. He made it a few steps down the street before as he tipped sideways and fell onto the storefront. He lay still, and drooled onto his mane.

"Pinkie Pie, I don't get this one bit. I don't know who to blame."

Pinkie walked alongside her with a strangely unbouncy cant.

"Well duuuh. It's the settlers who gave 'em the pies in the first place. If they'd just kept 'em to themselves, none of this would have happened."

Applejack's face was tormented.

"Well…maybe. But they kept eating them, even when they knew what was happening."

Pinkie's face soured.

"Well, maybe they couldn't help it. But what are we gonna _do_ about it, Applejack?"

"I don't rightly know. Goll darnit, I wish Twilight was here. She always knows what to do. And where's that Braeburn? What's so important that he runs off on his cuz?"

"Weeeeell, why don't you ask him?"

Pinkie pointed down the street. Applejack's eyes widened.

There was a pony that looked very much like her cousin indeed. It was difficult to say, because he wore a long brown duster with a ten-gallon pulled down low. There were two of them: him, and another pony Applejack didn't know. They were three blocks down, and hadn't seen them. If not for Pinkie, Applejack might well have passed them without a second thought, or he might have glanced down the street and spotted them. But in an instant, her perspicacious pink partner pulled her into an alleyway.

"Is it him? Is it him?"

"I…I think so. Now we'll get some answers."

Applejack made to turn onto the street, but Pinkie bolted in her way, forelegs wide.

"Applejack, we gotta do this sneaky-like! If he sees us he'll just run again, and we'll never find out what's going on."

Applejack made a sour face.

"I don't like the thought of sneaking up on my cousin. What if this is all a big misunderstanding, and he thinks I'm spyin' on him or something?"

Pinkie rolled her eyes.

"But Applejack, we _are_ spying on him. For Princess Celestia, remember? We need to know if he's Fakeburn or not."

Applejack sighed, and thought of the Princess.

"Alright, Pinkie. Let's do this your way."

Pinkie gave a low, dark chuckle, and whipped on a hunting cap.

"Heh heh heh. Then the game's afoot!"

They each snuck one eye around the corner. Braeburn was still there. After a minute or two, a third pony crossed the street and joined them. All three were in long, looming coats and hats. When they had greeted each other with the barest nods, the three cantered down and turned into an alley.

They waited a long moment, and then bolted from hiding. Applejack snuck along the sidewalk, while Pinkie crept between barrels, up over railings, and finally, hid herself perfectly behind a post. At last they both tip-toed to the alleyway, and snugged their flanks against the wall. They strained their ears.

"…easier than I expected," One pony said.

"Well don't get lazy," said an unknown mare's voice, "All it takes is one slip, and we'll be discovered."

"Don't worry about me," said the first pony, "How're things on your end?"

There was a low sound, like a huff.

"The sheriff is a hard man to change. I think he's beginning to suspect me."

"Well keep at it. We can't move forward until he's one of us."

"What about that "cuz" of yours?" said the first voice again, "Shouldn't we keep her quiet?"

"Don't worry about her," said a third voice. Applejack let out an involuntary gasp, which Pinkie stifled with two hooves and an leg wrapped around her face. The voice went on, and even Pinkie recognized it. Their eyes went wide as they glanced at each other.

"She's harmless," said Braeburn, "Applejack doesn't suspect a thing."


	14. Sundown Showdown

Applejack and Pinkie Pie ducked away from the alleyway and held a hasty conference.

"Here's the plan," Applejack whispered, "You chase off the other two. I'll handle my…cousin. He…it'll take us to Braeburn."

"How you figure that?"

"Princess Celestia reckons that changelings can only take somepony's shape if they can feed on them. That's why Chrysalis kept Cadence locked up beneath Canterlot. So this imposter'll need my brother to keep his shape. It'll lead us right to him."

"But how are you gonna make it tell us?"

"Oh, I'll find a way. This is my cousin we're after. I aint letting no changeling keep him from me, and I can be right persuasive. You ready?"

Somehow, Applejack could never say, Pinkie whipped on a pair of sunglasses.

"Oh, I was booooorn ready."

Applejack rolled her eyes and turned back towards the alleyway. Pinkie tried to follow, but bumped headfirst into the storefronts, then a hitching post, and finally reluctantly took the glasses off. The two crouched at the corner.

Scattered whispers continued between the three strange ponies for a minute. Then, with silent nods to each other, they moved towards the street.

"Hiyah!"

Applejack kicked over a barrel. The first one tumbled over it as their legs tangled beneath them. Applejack and Pinkie Pie leapt into battle.

The dark ponies' initial surprise was compounded by the furious charge of the two friends. Pinkie leapt over the dazed one's head to tackle the one behind.

The dark-cloaked mare stepped aside with fluid grace, and Pinkie tumbled to the ground at Braeburn's feet. But Applejack was already leaping after Pinkie, and hurtled at the imposter with tremendous force.

Pinkie leapt up as Applejack soared past, and turned to the other two, a tall, broad-shoulder's stallion and a dark-hued mare. They both scowled, and crouched in menace. Her eyes narrowed, and her smile spread from ear to ear.

"Let's party."

The stallion threw a kick at her, but she caught it. Tutting his lack of style, she flipped him and sent him crashing into the alleyway wall. She span, and barely slipped by a knife-like kick that whizzed past her nose. She dodged and wove around a flurry of lightning blows.

There was a faint buzz and the mare's hoof swung past her face in slow motion. Her eyes followed the razor-sharp horseshoe as it cleanly sliced a scrap of her curling hair-poofs.

Her eye narrowed to frightful intensity as the clipping floated to the ground. The two ponies glared at each other, utterly intent. The mare scraped her hoof against the ground with a knifelike shing! Pinkie sprang into a kung-fu stance.

But this ludicrous little melee was interrupted when the mare's companion staggered to his feet. Limping slightly, he ducked from the alleyway and ran off into the night. They both watched him go before they made their move.

Pinkie hollered and leapt, but the mare sidestepped her and fled with a sweep of her cape. Like a shadow before the dawn, she vanished into the town. Pinkie spared a moment to glare after her, then huffed.

Meanwhile, Applejack's quarry had fled at the first sign of trouble. She gave chase, and their hooves raised tiny clouds of dust on the dry back streets as they ran. Darkness clouded everything, and all she could see was his dark silhouette against the barest gleams of starlight. But she matched him duck for duck, and weave for weave, and slowly closed the gap. At last, they turned into a dead end.

He ran up against the alley wall. His eyes were panicked, and he looked around in seeming separation. But there was no escape. With a final burst of speed, Applejack leapt and tacked him head-on.

Dust went everywhere. But when it cleared, he was firmly in her hooves, pinned down under her. His desperate eyes found hers. They went wide.

"Applejack?! What're you…"

"Don't. You Dare. Call. Me. That. You…you shape-stealin' miscreant. Now tell me, where's Braeburn?!"

He began to laugh. It echoed eerily off the alley walls, and filled the town's nighttime silence with deep and friendly warmth. He laughed, and it was strange how familiar it was.

"Stop that! Stop that right now! You changelings aren't…you're…and I'll be…"

He blinked tears of amusement from his eyes, and swallowed a chuckle.

"Me, a changeling, little cuz? Well I'll be. This is some misunderstanding."

You. Aint. My. Cousin." Applejack said through gritted teeth, but her grip loosened in spite of herself. In a moment she redoubled it, but he made no effort to escape.

"Listen, Applejack. I know I've been cagey, the last few days, but it's not what it looks like. I can explain everything."

"You stop…you just…"

"Can I get up, cuz? If I could fly away, I would have. I won't go nowhere. Promise."

Applejack stared at him. Their eyes met, and he hazarded a small, sheepish smile, the kind he'd given when he upended a wheelbarrow full of seedlings, or flooded the orchards. No matter what the disaster, he always managed to make up for it with that foolish, foolish smile. Her eyebrows raised a shade. That smile was one of a kind.

"…Alright. But I'm warning you, first sign of trouble, you're pie-filling."

She let him up, and he shook out the kinks in his legs.

"Geez, cuz. You've gotten strong. And heavy."

"Don't try the familiar routine with me. If yer…if you're Braeburn…explain what's going on. Why you been running from me?"

"Well, I didn't right know it was you. Didn't look back to see, I was running so hard."

"And the party? Why'd you sneak away and avoid me?"

He stared at the ground and shifted from one leg to another.

"Well, I didn't…I didn't want you to get in trouble, Applejack."

"Trouble? What're you talking about?"

His eyes were unsteady, and he looked deeply uncomfortable.

"It…it's complicated, cuz. I don't know if it's a good idea…"

She put her hoof down and sent up a small cloud of dust. He jumped in surprise, his hat almost flying off.

"My cousin don't keep secrets from me. So tell me, Braeburn. What's going on?"

At that moment, Pinkie stuck her head around the corner and her eyes went wide.

"Applejack, good job. You hold him down while I tie him up…"

She strode forward with terrible purpose in her eyes, but Applejack held her back.

"Whoa, there, Pinkie. I think...well, I think it's really Braeburn."

Pinkie narrowed one eye and widened the other to telescopic proportions. She scrutinized the nervous-looking Braeburn and stroked her chin.

"Are you suuuuuuuuuure?"

Applejack looked at him. His smile, his eyes, even the way he wore his oversized ten-gallon hat.

"I'm sure. But he's still got a wagonfull of explaining to do,"

They both looked at Braeburn and he shifted uncomfortably again. Pinkie rubbed her hooves together.

"Changeling or not, we have ways of making you talk! You're on trial for high treason against parties, mister, and Judge Pinkie is in attendance. Now talk!"

Braeburn laughed again, chuckled at an increasingly irate Pinkie Pie.

"Just as crazy as ever. Alright, I'll explain. But I can do it here, not now. There're some ponies you need to meet. They'll make everything clear."

"Not good enough, party pooper!" Pinkie cried, "We're looking for answers now, and—"

"Pinkie, let me handle this." Applejack stepped forward, "Brae, who're these ponies I need to meet? What's going on? What are you doing?"

Braeburn looked into her eyes.

"It's about Appleoosa, cuz. About us. Thing're…well, there're things you don't know. Troubles on the way. A storm's coming."

Applejack's mind flew to Thunderhooves, her aunt, the dying trees, the cloudless sky and the merciless sun.

"You aint kidding, Braeburn. Alright. I'll meet these friends of yours."

Braeburn gave a wide smile

Pinkie wasn't sold yet, though.

"Wait a second, mister. How do we know you're not just a reaaaaally good lyer, waiting to ambush Applejack with these "friends" of yours, and drag her off to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what on her…"

"Well, maybe I haven't given you much reason to trust me, Miss Pie. You'll just have to trust Applejack."

"Well of course I trust Applejack, but the question is whether I should trust her trust in your trust that…gah!" Pinkie's eyes spun like roulette wheels. At last they stopped, and she shook herself sane. "Gah! Fine. If Applejack's sure, I'm sure."

With that, she fell back into blissful smiles, with no hint of her vanished ire.

Applejack blushed, and stayed silent as the three of them turned out of the alleyway and headed for home. Braeburn was unusually quiet too: mutual embarrassment, she figured. But Pinkie more than made up for the both of them as she recounted her tale, complete with dexterous, three-part reenactments.

"And I was all like BOOM! And he was all like tumble-bumble-rumble And then she was like zhiiiing, and I was like whoooooa…!"

This lasted, somehow, all the way home. She only paused to say a brief goodnight before cantering off to her room. After the door closed, they heard the noises begin again, muffled by the walls. They smiled at each other.

"Listen, Braeburn…"

"That better not be an apology, little cousin. You got nothing to apologize for. I'm just glad I can stop tip-toing around you. I don't like keeping secrets. Especially not from family."

She grinned at him, and he gave her a friendly nuzzle.

"Seriously, though. Can you imagine a changeling faking this face? Darn thing'd never manage something this handsome."

She grinned wider and nuzzled back as they walked down the hall.

"So I can meet these friends of yours tomorrow?"

He nodded.

"That's the plan. Most everyone'll be there. We've been planning this for a while."

They arrived at their rooms, side by side at the end of the hall. She gave him one last wink.

"Crazy night, cuz. Let's not do thing again, kay?"

He smile and nodded, warm and assuring.

"Promise."


	15. A Conspiracy Revealed

They got up early and ate breakfast before even the servants were awake. Pinkie mumbled something about "rampant circularly" before rolling over and snoring.

"Pinkie," Applejack murmured, nudging her again.

"Probably better to keep it just us," Braeburn said as they shut the front door, quiet as they could, "Some of them are liable to be a mite nervous with just you around."

"But why? What's so mysterious that y'all have to sneak around at night and keep secrets from your own kin?"

"Well, it's not how most of us would do it. But the oddballs in the group…'specially this one mare…you met her last night. She's…well, she's a mite tight on security. You'll see."

They walked into town, and barely saw anypony. They went into the deepest alleyways and back streets. At the junction of four narrow, wooden-walled streets, Raeburn had her wait. He went to the end of a back alley, empty but for a pile of sand. He rooted around in the pile, and finally pulled up the handle of a trap door. He beckoned her to come, and held it open for her.

She squeezed in and followed the steep ramp underground. Beams held up the rough wooden ceiling, and pressed against the packed-dirt walls. Somepony walked across the floor above and sent small showers of dust raining down with each creaking step. At the end of the hallway was a wooden door, lit by a single candle set in the wall beside it.

Braeburn squeezed ahead through the cramped tunnel, and knocked on the door. A murmur came from the other side, and after a moment there was the sound of half a dozen deadlocks being drawn back. The door opened.

Braeburn ushered her in, with a wry smile.

"Time you met the rest of us, cuz."

She entered a dark, dirt-floored room. In the center was a rough-cut wooden table with a single lamp, the sole illumination. Around it sat a chiaroscuro collection of ponies.

There were half a dozen of them. Most she did not recognize. The stallion from the other night was there, shyly secluded, as was the dark-cloaked mare who had gone toe to toe with Pinkie. But the rest were complete unknowns to her. She supposed she should introduce herself.

"Hey, y'all. My name's—"

"Applejack," said the shadowed mare, hidden by her hood, "Guardian of Honesty."

"What's the donna's niece doing here?" an elderly stallion asked Braeburn.

"Braeburn, why would you bring _her_?" said a third with a twinge of fear in his voice.

"Now settle down, y'all. Yes, this is _Apple_jack." He stressed the name as if it explained everything, and then went on.

"Now, I know most of you don't have any reason to trust her. But she's family, and she's here to help. She's a friend of Celestia…"

"Exactly," The dusky mare leaned over and glared at Braeburn over the table, "I, for one, am not comfortable conducting business in the presence of a _spy_."

That did it. She lifted her voice over rising murmurs of assent.

"Now hold on. I'm no one's spy. And I'm here because Braeburn asked me to."

"As I'm sure you knew he would," the dusky mare shot back. Then she turned to the rest, saying "Does the princess know no bounds of decency, using family against one another?"

Again, Applejack fought against a tide of murmurs.

"Now that's not how it is at all. Sure, Princess Celestia asked me to come down to Appleoosa. But I'm here, tonight, for Braeburn. Seems like he's in trouble, and maybe the rest of you too. Now what's going on?"

There was a moment of silence, during which they glared at each other. Finally, the elderly stallion leaned over to the darkened mare.

"Maybe we should give her a chance, Cloak. If the Princess trusts her, she can explain our problems—"

"Sell us out, more likely" the mare spat, and stormed around the table to Braeburn, "And when it happens, it'll be on _your_ hooves, Apple."

But Braeburn did not flinch.

"Miss Dagger, we've been arguing about things for months now. But nothing's gotten better. Something needs to change, or nothing's going to. I think Applejack can help us. Will you please sit down?"

After a long moment, the huffy mare gave Applejack a steely glance and returned to her seat. Braeburn pulled up two stools for them, and they sat. There was silence.

"Soooooo what are y'all here for?"

The mare spoke up again.

"Well, Apple? Care to explain to your dear cousin what you've thrown her into?"

Around the table, ponies gave short nods, and looked to Braeburn. He took a deep breath and turned to Applejack.

"Well, I can do my best. Cuz, you've seen Appleoosa. How's the town look to you?"

Applejack was puzzled.

"Looks mighty impressive, Braeburn. You settler ponies have done a good job, that's for sure."

There was a quiver of shifting and murmurs around the table. The elderly stallion muttered something like "That's a fact," and Applejack felt the atmosphere warming a bit. She decided to chance continuing.

"And it's a mite strange how many city ponies have moved in, but the town's growing fast, isn't it? Things seem good."

Braeburn gave her a smile, but it quickly faded.

"Well, that's not totally wrong. But you've seen Donna—" and there was a brief wave of contemptuous scoffs around the table, but he pressed on "—Donna Clementina, and her family. They're not the worst, but they're not much better than the rest of them. Don Valencio's uprooted acres and acres of apples for his cash crops_._ We could have fed dozens and dozens of new settlers with those apples. Instead, we're being buried under a wave of city ponies who want to turn Appleoosa into Manehattan, or Fillydelphia."

He paused and caught his breath.

"And that, by itself, wouldn't be so bad. Sure, it's our home, but there's space aplenty. Anyone's welcome. We don't want to be unneighborly."

A youngish stallion scowled and muttered, "Get to it, Apple."

Braeburn nodded.

"But there're…problems. Water's just one. You know the town's gonna be incorporated soon? Made a proper part of Equestria?"

Applejack nodded.

"Well," He went on, "That won't be too good for most of us settlers. Not that we don't want it—" Applejack thought she heard a muttered "speak for yourself" "—just that we don't like how it's gonna go down."

"Rights of sale." Applejack blurted out, remembering in a flash her Aunt's excitement.

"Yeaaaaah. Those. Now, when we settled Appleoosa, we thought thing'd be simple. We settlers would grow the apples, and get the Rights in return. Maybe individually, maybe as a town. Either way, we'd get them. But now—"

"They're giving 'em to Don Valencio. Him and his like." The youngish stallion put one hoof down, "Them, who didn't do thing to build Appleoosa."

"Don Valencio? But he's been here—"

"—a year. Just long enough to claim residency, and Rights of Settlement." It was the dark mare, Cloak and Dagger. She leaned back into the shadows, tense and brooding, and addressed Applejack with a piercing stare. Her voice was low, but it cut through the darkness like a knife. There was an undercurrent of threat in it, undirected but unmistakable.

"The Don plays a delicate game. He retains his Rights in Manehattan by his holdings there, as well as periodic visits. But he is here, now, just in time to claim Sale in Appleoosa, or more properly, Purchase. He's cornered the demand, and now he's after the supply."

"But cuz," Applejack said, "How's he supposed to hold sale and purchase rights at the same time? Isn't that against the rules?"

"Indeed," Cloak and Dagger cut in without waiting for Braeburn, "Or it would, if Appleoosa was part of Equestria. But it isn't, and the Don will string out that legal pretense as long as he can."

"But after the town gets incorporated—"

"—he'll have handed off the rights to a trusted intermediary. What matters is the interim, when can gain control, rights or no."

But Applejack was confused.

"Cuz, I know you don't like the Oranges much. But they're—"

"—family, yeah, I know." Braeburn looked pained, but he pressed on, "But t'aint fair, cuz. We worked for those rights. Heck, we fought for 'em." He smiled, and Applejack did too.

"It's not just a question of basic fairness," the old grey spoke up, "Settlement was expensive. Some of us borrowed to finance it. Borrowed a whole lot, for surveyors, transport, construction materials, and all the rest. Most of us are still waiting to pay off what we owe."

"We're waiting on those rights of sale," the young stallion put in, "We're depending on 'em. But Don Valencio come in, sets up a few orange trees, and expects to be handed the town on a silver platter."

"It won't be the town, though, will it? Y'all can still work the trees and live here, even if it's Don Valencio's seal on the crates that get shipped north."

There was a collective huff. Even Braeburn looked offended.

"The problem is Cuz, it won't be the town. Not Appleoosa. Not the Appleoosa we want. Not the Appleoosa we scratched and fought for. Not this way. Not with them in charge."

There were nods of approval, and a long moment of silence.

"Soooooo, what do y'all intend to do?"

No one answered her for a long moment. Cloak and Dagger smirked.

"We'd like to know ourselves, little Apple. We've been arguing about that for months now. I don't suppose you've got any clever suggestions?"

Applejack's eyebrows furrowed.

"First of all, I aint little. Second of all, where's the need to be acting all secret-like? Isn't this something to bring to Princess Celestia?"

A storm broke. The elderly grey put his hoof down.

"Just what I've been saying!" he exclaimed, "The princess _must_ have our best interests at heart…"

But the youngish stallion huffed and tossed his mane, voice full of biting sarcasm.

"Sure. That's why she's had her Arbiter visiting Valencio every week for a month now. I'm sure they're just getting acquainted."

"Now don't you start be-smirching the Princess again! She's done nothing but good for this town, and we owe her…"

"Owe her? For taking our crops at half standard price? Seems like she's the one with some settling up to do—"

The two started yelling at each other while Braeburn failed to stifle them. Cloak and Dagger leaned back with a grim resignation in her eyes. At last, Applejack had enough.

"Won't y'all please SETTLE DOWN."

Restoring order worked much the same in a back room as in a cattle pasture, it seemed. Her voice—insistent but not strident or demanding—cut through the verbal clutter. The room turned to her with a mixture of anger, surprise, and admiration.

"Now, I know y'all don't have much reason to trust me. But I promise, all I want is what's best for Appleoosa. I got family here. So why don't I write a letter to Princess Celestia, explaining everything?"

The argumentative stallion tried to say something, but was silenced by near-universal glares from the rest.

"Mightn't be a bad idea," Braeburn offered, "I thought you might be able to help with something like that."

"She can make a better case then we can," the grey murmured, "Might be out best chance before…"

He petered off, as if hesitant to say more.

Cloak and Dagger swept her eye around the table. She saw, for the first time in months, signs of consensus. Burying, with great effort, her instincts, she seized the opportunity.

"I don't like this idea. But if you fools are determined to exhaust every possibility short of…well, so be it. You'd have to keep our names out of it, of course."

Applejack rolled her eyes, but nodded.

"If you say so. The important thing is to tell the Princess about this. She'll know what to do after that."

"Very well. All in favor of letting Applejack help us write to the Princess?"

Everypony except the red stallion and Cloak put up their hooves.

Braeburn allowed himself a smile. He looked around the table. He rummaged a few sheets of paper and a pencil from his saddlebag, and placed them on the table in front of everypony.

"I suppose we should get started, then."

It took them until morning to arrive at a phrasing that everypony could agree upon. Cloak and Dagger, in particular, insisted on reading and rereading every draft and often objected to the most innocuous of details. The form of address caused a brief spat at the end, when everypony's patience was low. Applejack, however, smoothed that over with the prudent suggestion of simply "Dear Princess Celestia". At last, they had a letter.

Spirits had lifted over the course of the evening. Putting their worries and complaints in writing seemed to enthuse everypony, or at least give them hope that their they needn't worry in vain. Finally, after Cloak and Dagger read the final draft over for a sixth time, Braebrun burst out laughing.

"Oh, just fold it up, Cloak. No one's going to sneak in anything when you're not looking."

She spared him a cool glance, but sighed, and folded the half-dozen pages into thirds with swift, precise movements. A dribble of wax sealed it, literally and metaphorically.

The sun was twinkling on the horizon when they opened the door. Smoke rose from chimneys, and every few minutes an early-bird pony walked past the alleyway. Appleoosa was waking up.

They left one by one, at Cloak and Dagger's insistence. The old grey bid Applejack the warmest of farewells as he cantered off, looking a year old. At last, it was only Cloak, Braeburn and Applejack alone, shadowed from the sunrise by the wood planking of the alleyway. As she made to go, Cloak and Dagger turned to the pair.

"Well Apple, I hope you're pleased. I don't know what good this'll do, but I hope your cousin knows what she's doing."

"Miss Cloak…" Applejack began, but the dusky mare cut her off.

"And don't think I trust you yet, missy. You just get that letter to Celestia, not a word to your Aunt and Uncle. Or that pastel brat of theirs. Remember, I'll be keeping an eye on you."

With that, she swept up her hood and melted into the alleyway. In a moment, she turned a corner and was gone.

Applejack rolled her eyes.

"She always so melodramatic?"

Braeburn chuckled.

"You have no idea."

They walked back to the manor together, as the town came more and more alive every minute. By the time they reached the open road, a regular bustle clamored behind them.

"What do you think the Princess will think?" Braeburn asked, all of a sudden.

Applejack gave him a skewed, whimsical look.

"You're not worried about her too, are you? Like that stallion?"

"Oh, Firebrand? Yeah, he's a character. But he's sharp as a whip and right popular among the younger settler ponies. He's been real useful, knowing so many ponies like he does. Just lets his temper get away from him sometime."

But her question hung unanswered between them. She decided to press it.

"You're not worried about Princess Celestia, are you, Braeburn?"

He looked aside, and the sun caught his face, filled in the lines on his face with shadows. He looked suddenly old, haggard, worn-out. Like a blunt plow, abandoned half-buried in the soil it had tilled. But he shook his head, and the illusion vanished.

"Not like Firebrand. It's just…well, you were at the wedding, weren't you? We heard all about it, the changeling queen, Celestia…Amore Cadenza."

"Cadence," Applejack offered, "She prefers Cadence."

"On first name terms, are you? Well, Princess Cadence then. She's the one who banished Chrysalis after Celestia…fell…right?"

"Yep. But the Princess is fine, cuz. Chrysalis was just feeding off of Shining Armor' love. Once her link broken, she was powerless."

"Sure. Sure, that's what we've heard. And we're mighty grateful to the Princess—Cadence, that is. And Celestia too."

It was clear that something was struggling to express itself. Applejack stopped them beside the road and nuzzled close to her cousin.

"Come on, Braeburn. What's the trouble?"

Again, he looked aside, and the sun was thrown across his features. His eyes were very distant. He said nothing for a long while: each second seemed to widen the distance between them. Finally…

"She fell, cuz. Princess Celestia fell. I'm…we…no one's quite sure how to understand that. Firebrand's on the edge, but a whole lot of others are starting to wonder…"

"Wonder what?" The edge in her voice surprised them both. Braeburn didn't look at her as he explained.

"Just…well, wonder things like, can she still protect everyone like she used to? Is she…up to the task? I…I dunno. Suppose I shouldn't worry. She's got you, after all."

Applejack blushed and nuzzled against his flank in encouragement.

"Don't worry cuz. Princess Celestia's my friend. She'll know what to do about the Oranges, and Appleoosa. Everything'll be right as rain."

Braeburn looked at the sky with a wry smile.

"Rain'd be right nice, about now. Come on: we'd best get that letter mailed."


	16. Sister to Sister

Princess Luna cantered up the evening-shadowed spiral stairs. Might canter imply an undo haste? Then perhaps "strode"…unless that suggested an unnecessary officiousness. And there was no need for such formality between friends and equals. The door at the top was ajar: she peered around the frame.

"What keeps you, sister? The banquet will begin shortly."

Princess Celestia was knelt at her customary place of letter-reading, with her customary implements of correspondence: pen and paper were placed neatly at her side. But amidst everything expected and normal, she wore a most uncustomary frown. It marred her otherwise beautiful face, cloaked in her flowing, pastel-rainbow mane.

Luna walked—no, trotted—to her side and peeked at the letter she was reading. A cursory glance revealed complex legalisms and delicately convoluted sentences. The word 'rights' featured prominently, as did 'orchards', and 'your most adoring servant'. That was all she saw before Celestia folded the letter and put the whole stack aside.

"Is something the matter, dear Sister? Is the news…tragic?"

Celestia gave her a bemused smile as she finished stowing away her letters and locked her desk with a tiny golden key.

"Nothing terribly serious. Just a small misunderstanding. It seems that there's some confusion in Appleoosa."

"Appleoosa? Isn't Lady Applejack visiting there on your invitation?"

A strange look crept into Celestia's eyes, but she smiled at her sister.

"Yes, she is. Strange how these things get around. I'm sure I didn't tell anyone at court. But no matter. The banquet is set to begin, you say?"

Luna nodded.

"The guests are all present, and await us in the reception hall."

She turned to go.

"Let them wait."

Celestia had risen and gone to her window. Below, Canterlot was coming alight with lamps, lit one by one. Lazy summer night air carried medleys of speech and music to the balcony. In the west, the horizon's glow was fading into the sea, and scattered stars shone in the violet-blue east.

Luna cocked her head.

"Is something wrong, my sister?"

Celestia said nothing, but looked down with silent eyes at the city below.

Luna walked to her side and followed her gaze. Nobles were mingling at the palace gates, lovers were strolling in flank to flank, and in the grand patios vast numbers were talking, laughing, and moving about. Music played and children squealed with delight.

"They have learned to enjoy the night," Celestia said with offhand ease.

Luna lit up with glee, but looked aside modestly.

"We are happy to make their lives more…fun."

But Celestia did not smile.

"Their little lives. Don't they look small, from up here?"

Celestia gave her sister an intense stare.

"They need us, Luna. They must need us. They must love us—love me."

Luna gave an uncertain nod.

"Of course they do, dear sister. No pony is loved more."

"But why?"

The question was a whiplash in the still night air. Luna started slowly.

"Because…because you love them. Because…you care for them…and protect them. Why else?"

Celestia smiled at last, but it was thin and stony affair. Her gaze did not waver.

"Why else indeed. Not for friendship or courtesy or tradition. Safety and love."

Luna was concerned now, and she moved close to Celestia. She thought her sister tensed for an instant, but…no, it was a trick of the dying light. She gave Celestia a fond nuzzle.

"What weighs upon your spirits, dear sister? Come, tell me. Don't bear it alone. You've had to do that for far too long. I'm here. Let me help."

For a long moment, Celestia seemed ready to turn and go downstairs. But finally, she gave a sigh.

"Thank you, Luna. That…that's very kind of you. It's not terribly complicated: the settlers in Appleoosa would like to be granted rights of sale under the terms of incorporation. But I received, today as well, a letter from my arbiter suggesting that I grant the rights to the Don Valencio di Orange."

"Oh, Applejack's relations?"

A strange glint flew into Celestia's eye. But it melted away in a moment.

"Yes. Exactly. But the curious thing is that Applejack herself was the one who wrote on behalf of the settlers. It seems there is a schism in the family."

Luna adjusted her mane with a note of impatience.

"Well? Surely Applejack knows best where her family is concerned?"

Celestia smiled.

"Affairs of state, dear, are rarely so simpe. The Don has offered very favorable terms of incorporation. More than double the customary royal tithe. But more than that…"

Luna let her sister go on, looking out at the city as she did.

"They need us, Luna. We grant their local monopolies and set their prices."

"What are you saying, sister? I understand all this. What is really troubling you?"

There was a long pause. Celestia seemed hesitant to meet her sisters' eyes.

"Applejack. She clearly means well. But she understands little of the delicate balance of power involved in these things. I have every reason to grant Don Velencio full rights to the Appleoosan territories' fruit supply. He fulfills every criterion and has proven himself an able administrator. The kingdom needs such stallions. It needs the stability they bring."

"But the settlers: they established this town, yes? They planted the fields and raised the houses?"

Celestia raised a single eyebrow and peered at Luna over her long mane.

"Of course. But that entitles them to nothing, if a more worthy candidate can be found. And there are other considerations."

Luna, of course, had seen the royal wedding's aftermath, seen the cracked floor and her sister's scorched horn. She had heard of the Usurper, cast far into the South. It was not difficult to guess the direction of Celestia's concerns.

"Chrysalis."

"Yes. Exactly. In these times, Equestria needs a strong hoof. The kingdom need stallions like Valencio di Orange, loyal and clever and noble in mind, if not birth."

"So you will reject the settlers' requests? They will not be pleased, I think."

"Hm…perhaps. There could be some discontent among the earlier settlers. Yes…"

Celestia seemed to sink into thought. Her brow furrowed.

Luna hastened to reassure her.

"But sister, don't worry. All will understand that this is for the good of the kingdom."

Celestia smiled.

"I'm proud of you, Luna. You're becoming more and more like a true Princess each day."

"And," Luna went on, bursting with pride, "The more Don Valencio invests in Appleoosa, the more reliant he will be on the rights you grant him. With such generous terms of incorporation, he will be dependent on you, and therefore trustworthy. Far preferable to the relative freedom of the urban—"

Celestia turned with a sudden hoofstrike and strode to her desk. Luna's words petered out as her sister took up a new pen and began writing on a fresh piece of parchment.

Luna followed, nervous.

"Is everything alright, sister? Did I say something wrong?"

Celestia said nothing, but continued writing. Finally, she placed her horn to the page, signed it with her mark, and rolled it into a scroll. She turned to Luna and smiled.

"No, not at all, sister. You've proven yourself to have an excellent grasp of the situation. So much so, that I have a favor to ask. A Princess's duty, as it were."

"Oh? How can we be of service?"

Celestia smiled.

"You will take our decree to Appleoosa. As my fellow Princess, you will grant Don Valencio full rights of sale. Publically, I think. None shall dispute it then."

Celestia sent the scroll with a puff of dragonfire and moved to descend the tower steps. Luna followed at her side.

"Of course, dear sister. Shall I leave first thing tomorrow morning?"

Celestia stopped at the tower door. She seemed to wrestle with something for a moment, but then she smiled, and shook her head gently.

"I'd feel much better knowing you were on your way tonight. Fly under the moon, dear sister, and see the kingdom in your light."

Luna nodded again.

"Very well. Really, I didn't think the banquet was going to be very much fun anyway."

Celestia smiled as the two descended the steps together.

"No, I suspected not."


	17. Trouble in Town

"Apple! Apple! Get out here!"

Applejack heard hammering on the manor door from two floors away, and heard the voice—sounded familiar—through her feather-stuffed comforter. Uneager, she rolled out of bed and trotted into the hall.

Down below, a groggy-looking butler-pony was struggling to bar the entrance to an extremely angry flame-red stallion. She descended the stairs, and saw that it was Firebrand. The butler was trying to make excuses.

"Yes, yes, but young master Braeburn is indisposed, but if you'll…"

"INDISPOSED? He'll be right fit te be tied once ah've had a word with 'im. Now get yer moldy mane outa my way, or ah'll—"

"Firebrand, right?" Applejack said as she cantered down the final steps. She meant it as a friendly gesture, but the stallion only seemed to burn brighter.

"Ooo, are we on a ferst name basis, little lassie? I didn't know that we'd gotten to know each other so well while yeh were sellin' us out to that—"

She ignored this, and kept her tone level.

"What's wrong? Has something happened?"

"Oh, somethin's happened ahlright. Now why don't yeh be a good little filly and fetch yer bruther? I got nothing to say to _you._"

Scowling, her sleep and morning soured beyond repair, Applejack went to rouse Braeburn. The hammering and yelling had left him unaffectedly slumbering, it seemed, and he blinked and yawned as Applejack pushed him into the hall.

"Oh, hey 'Brand. What's the ruckus about?"

Firebrand turned and pointed a hoof toward town.

"I suggest yeh come and see fer yerself, Apple. But ah warn yeh: yer not gonna like it."

Ponies were crowded twenty-deep in the center of town. Applejack, Braeburn, and Firebrand had to push and bump to even get near the center of the commotion. Finally, they emerged in front of the town signpost. Everypony was straining to read an important-looking poster that had been plastered over half the post.

"Just put up this morning," they heard one pony say.

"Anyone see this Luna come in?"

"Flappers all around the hotel this morn'."

Braeburn muscled a few ponies out of the way to see for himself. Applejack followed in his wake.

"By order of their majesties, Princesses Luna and Celestia," he read aloud, "Formal Incorporation of the Appleoosan Territory to be concluded in three day's time, along with transfer of sole and indivisible Rights and Responsibilities of Sale to…" his eyes widened, "…_Don Valencio di Orange?!"_

Applejack's eyes widened in turn, and several ponies in the crowd gasped. Angry murmurs began to rise. Firebrand glared at Applejack.

"Seems like yer letter did just as much good as I expected, Apple. Thanks fer that."

Applejack's words jumbled in her mouth as Firebrand turned to the crowd.

"Y'all hear that? Town's getting' sold out to the Oranges. What do y'all think of that?"

Angry cries and discontented grumbling met his call. His eyebrows furrowed, and he leapt on a nearby barrel.

"Well, I'll tell y'all what I think of that. I don't like it one bit!"

Cries of agreement rang out over the dusty street. The air swam as loud voices flew upwards and blended in the boiling air. Above, the sun beat down.

Firebrand went on.

"And I suppose…" his voice became suddenly slow and deliberate, as if he was considering something, "I suppose that we're expected to accept that, to lay down and roll over, and let Appleoosa get taken away from us."

Now the crowd was booing and yelling indignities. But Firebrand stood steady and drank it up.

"We're supposed to lie down, we're expected to give up the town we worked for. The town we built. Are you ready to give up what you toiled for two years to earn? Are you ponies ready to give up Appleoosa?"

The crowd screamed him down. He smiled.

"Me neither! But I'll tell you what I'm ready to do. I'm ready, I'm more than ready, to give Don Valencio di Orange—" the crowed jeered and booed as he sarcastically drew out the name, "—a piece of mah mind!"

There were cheers.

"I say," and he seemed to swell and grow as the crowed hung on his every word, "I say we head over to his _manor_, and tell him _exactly_ how we feel!"

The crowd roared its approval. Braeburn and Applejack stared in horror, fixed by the stallion's words, and the crowd's unrelenting pressure.

"I say…we do more than that. I say," and his eye lit with a manic enthusiasm, "I say we _show_ him how we feel!"

Raucous and furious cries rang out.

"We'll show him! We'll show him!"

"Let's take back what's ours!"

Firebrand seemed to soak in the cries for a long moment, then he made a final effort, throwing his whole body into his words.

"Let's go show him exactly who we are. _We're APPLEOOSA!"_

Like a storm, a final thunderclap of exclamations broke the crowd. Yelling and seizing whatever came to hand —rolling pins, pitchforks, wicker stools—they swarmed back towards the road to the manor.

The spell broke on Applejack and Braeburn as well. As the crowd surged along the road, the cousins looked at each other with profound helplessness. Applejack was the first to recover.

"What's that pony think he's doing? They gonna burn down the house or something?

Braeburn looked with noticeable fright at the rapidly-arming ponies.

"I dunno, cuz. Brand's got 'em in a right stampede. What are we going to do?"

Applejack closed her eyes and took a deep breath. After a moment, they snapped open and she was all business.

"Well, I'm not about to let a mob go stamping all over my family's house. The Oranges may be obnoxious, town-stealing, orchard uprooting, rain-hogging, obnoxiously-dressed louts, but they're family. So get on down and warn 'em before this crowd gets there. And see what you can do to calm 'em down. They'll listen to you: you're an Apple."

Braeburn gave her a nod.

"What about you, little cuz? You're an Apple just the same. What are you gonna do?"

Applejack glanced at the poster again, and turned and bolted off into town.

"I'm goin' to find Princess Luna!"

The hotel had been a one-story, rather ramshackle edifice of boards when last she visited. Now, it stood three floors high, and gleamed with red and gold paint. The doors' edges were gilded with gold leaf, and carved with harvest designs.

Two pegasi stood guard in the lobby with stern glares and razor-sharp wings, but their captain greeted Applejack with smiles and volunteered himself to see her upstairs.

At the royal suite, another pair of guards stood at crisp attention. At a word from the captain, they stood aside and opened the suite door. Applejack entered alone.

Princess Luna sat on the luxurious double-bed in the room's center. She was looking out of the large windows that framed the street-side wall. Applejack could hear, muffled and distant, the sounds of the crowd as it surged through the streets.

Luna turned her head.

"Good day, fair Applejack. Have you come to scream and throw things too?"

Applejack scoffed, and walked to the Princess' side.

"Of course not, Princess. Why would I do that?"

Luna looked out at the city again.

"We saw and heard everything. The townsponies are not pleased with our decree."

Applejack shifted from one hoof to another.

"Well, er…no, they aint. But don't worry, they're just riled up. I have to ask you a question."

Luna seemed eager to be distracted from her melancholy ruminations.

"Oh? Ask us anything, honest Applejack."

"Well, didn't Princess Celestia get my letter? I explained everything, and I thought fer sure she would understand."

Luna's face went grim again, and she deflected her eyes from Applejack's.

We…we talked about this, my sister and I. When she explained it, it seemed so obvious. But now, we are not so sure."

"What do you mean?"

"We…I…I mean that my sister may have deceived me.

"Celestia?!"

"Well…I cannot be sure. The very fact that I am a novice in friendship makes it both possible and yet difficult to prove."

"That's not…but why? What on earth would Celestia…_lie_ about?"

Luna did not answer right away. Instead, she pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows. Finally, she sighed.

"Do you know why Equestria grants rights of sale, Applejack?"

"Well, that's obvious isn't it? The best farmers get a secure income, their community gets a stable supply and price, and the Court gets a tithe to support itself. That's what Granny Smith always told me."

"Yes and no. That is all true, but there is more. With my sister…well, things always go deeper. Stability, security, support: do you know what unites these concepts?"

Applejack just shook her head.

"Control. Rights of sale are about control of the food supply, and control of those who hold them. Don Valencio wants the rights to make money. But to obtain and retain them, he's had to intrigue against others who want the same. And since my sister is the sole provider, everypony is ultimately competing for her favor. So we designed it."

"You? Designed?"

Luna gave her a smile, amused but not unkind.

"You have little history from before the Revolution. But even you can recognize that Rights are a legal construction? That they only hold so long as Celestia remains in power?"

"Well, sure. She enforces them for everyone's good."

"Ah, but for her good as well. She enforces them, and they enforce her rule."

A sour look crept onto Applejack's face.

"Pardon me, Princess, but it almost sounds like you…like you don't like it."

Luna smiled again, but shook her head.

"Do not mistake me, dear Applejack. I still remember the Chaos, and the Revolution. I remember the uncertainty that came after, when we had struck down Discord, but had not yet formed our own plan for the kingdom. Nopony knew what to expect."

"The first and most important task was securing food for ourselves. We'd never starved under Discord, but we'd also never had to feed ourselves. Food had simply fallen from the skies, or grown from trees, or…you understand."

Applejack did, and she shuddered to recall her own brush with Chaos. Luna saw comprehension in her eyes, and went on.

"So my sister—who better understood such things—gave the responsibility and right to a few trusted earth ponies. If they'd been allowed, they might have fought for it. Her policy maintained stability and security. She maintained control. It was the ultimate rejection of Chaos."

"What worries me is why she sent me here. Why me?"

Luna's head sank into her forelegs, and a melancholy look seeped into her face. Applejack laid down beside her sympathetically, and patted her back.

"What do you mean, Princess? Everypony loves you, and you're a Princess, after all. Who better to deliver the news?"

"Yes, who indeed? Who could better deflect all the inevitable anger from _her_? Who better than unknown, unloved Luna?"

"Now Princess, don't say things like that. You'll see, everything'll be fine. I bet Celestia just…didn't know…how the settler ponies would react. Once she hears about how angry they are, she'll change her mind. I'm sure."

Luna looked uncertain, but she gave her a small smile.

"Thank you, kind Applejack. I hope you are right. Would you…would you help me write to her, today? I would appreciate your help."

There was a sudden hue from outside the window, and Applejack saw the crowd had finally gained momentum and was surging out of town.

"Actually, Princess, I think I need to go help my cousin, Braeburn. He's gone to warn Clementine and the family, but it's just him against Firebrand and his crowd…"

"Yes, I quite understand, Applejack. I helped to create this danger, so I will come with you and see what can be done."

They galloped side by side out of town. The mob had raised a thick cloud of dust as they trampled along the road, and Applejack's mouth got filled up and dry with the stuff by the time they reached the mansion. The settlers were crowded at the steps, led by Firebrand. The red stallion was talking loudly with Braeburn, who stood before the doors with a seeming solidity. Applejack, though, thought she saw one of his hooves quivering.

"Ah say we deserve a word with Valencio," Firebrand demanded, half to Braeburn and half to his followers. There were cries of agreement and angry mutterings.

"And I say that yer making a mistake, 'Brand. You're not here for anything but trouble. There's still time to fix things, just go on home and we'll talk later…"

"Oh, ah think the time fer talk is over, Apple. If Don Valencio wants this town, he's gonna have teh face us sooner or later. Might as well be now."

More angry cries began to rise from his followers, along with impatient grumblings. Several ponies waved pitchforks or torches in the air. Applejack and Luna pushed through the crowd, making a path with Luna's grandeur and Applejack's strength. As they passed, several ponies stared at them, and most bowed respectfully to Luna, but none met them with smiles or warmth.

They broke through and mounted the steps to the two stallions. Braeburn looked at them with obvious relief, but Firebrand only burned more angrily.

"Well, Miss Apple. And…Luna, isn't it?" He did not bow.

Several ponies gasped at this bold and undisguised impropriety.

But Luna smiled without a trace of distaste, and inclined her head politely. With obvious grudgingness, he returned it, and she seized the chance.

"We have not been introduced, good pony, but I understand you are called Firebrand. Hail, and well met."

He seemed disarmed by her courteous response to his patent disrespect. His momentary lapse of poise let her continue. She turned and addressed the crowd.

"Good ponies of Appleoosa, I am indeed Princess Luna. I understand that you are very angry about my sister's decision. Many of you have lived here since the beginning, and all of you have worked hard to build it."

There were appreciative murmurs from the crowd. Firebrand scowled, but he saw that she was reaching them, and her words were amenable to himself, so he let her go on.

"But I beg this of you: do not inflict on another the same injustice that you yourselves have felt. That way leads only to unhappiness. Leave Don Valencio and his family alone."

The crowd began to rustle with unease, and some of them wore openly hostile faces. Sarcastic grumbles of "Don" and "Donna" began to rise. A few lifted up their pitchforks again. But Luna went on, swiftly, and with rising confidence.

"But I promise you this, ponies of Appleoosa. I will speak with my sister about this. I, Princess Luna, will speak on your behalf, and acquire a fair incorporation for your town: one that serves the needs of the many, and rewards the determination of those who built Appaloosa. I promise you, your hard work and sacrifice will not be ignored. Appleoosa will be yours."

The storm broke again, but this time, it was with cheers of approval and happy smiles. The ponies threw down their torches and pitchforks, and applauded. Firebrand stepped forward, his face inscrutable as he waved for quiet. For a moment, Applejack feared he was going to launch into a counterargument. But then his face bent into a friendly smile.

"Fellow settlers, on behalf of all of us, ah thank Princess Luna fer her words and intentions. Ah look forward to working with her to achieve…_our_ goals. All of us, together…well, we _can't _ fail!"

The crowd cheered again, stamping and hollering their approval. Firebrand was lifted up onto their shoulders and carried back to town as the settlers cheered his name. Luna, applejack and Braeburn were left alone on the dusty manor steps.

"Well, I'll be," Braeburn said, and blew out his cheeks in relief. After a moment, though, the shock passed, and he looked in shock at Princess Luna. He fell to the ground and lowered his eyes, but Luna laughed, gently, and picked him up again.

"No need for that, dear, brave cousin of Applejack. I am here as a friend as well as a Princess."

Braeburn's words came out in jumbled stream. He swayed unsteadily, and Applejack put one hoof on his shoulder.

"Whoa there, cuz. You've had an exciting morning. What say you lay down?"

Before he could answer, though, the manor door squeaked and Aunt Clementine peeked out. She let out a dramatic sigh of relief, and swung it open. Sugar Spice followed after her.

"Oh, I thought those terrible ponies would never leave."

All three of them knelt low to Luna.

"Your majesty, we are forever in your debt," Clementina said, and Sugar Spice nodded vigorously against the ground. Luna blushed, and waved away the thanks with one hoof.

"Oh…it was nothing, family of Applejack. We are simply glad we could be of service."

But Clementine rose and took the Princess by the hoof.

"Oh, it was far from _nothing_, Princess. You have saved us from an unruly mob. Why, without our house, we might lose our claim in Appleoosa! We would be _simply_ ruined! Dearest, beloved Princess, you've saved more than our house: you've saved our very lives!"

Luna looked stymied, and her eyes didn't quite meet the Donna's.

"But…you heard their complaints, aunt of Applejack?"

Clementine waved away the thought with an idle gesture, and tutted, as if utterly unconcerned by the idea.

"Oh, ephemeral discontents from idle troublemakers, to be sure. The rights and laws must be upheld. As a Princess, you know that better than all of us. There _must _be order."

Luna did not smile, and shifted uncomfortably.

"Ah…yes, of course. There must be order. But you understand, I will be speaking to my sister as soon as—"

But Clementine cut her off, albeit with every conceit of the grateful subject.

"Oh, thank you Princess, thank you. It is so good to know that _somepony_ stands up for what is just and good on the world. I feel _simply_ relieved, having you to protect our rights!"

Luna seemed to make up her mind about something.

"Donna Clementina," she said, in a firm and royal voice, "We have not come to Appleoosa to act on anypony's behalf, but for the greater good. The settlers have needs just as you do, and _we—_," she stressed the imperial pronoun such that the Donna flinched slightly, "_—we_ intend to give them a fair hearing."

"But…oh, Princess you can't mean that you intend to _support_ that…that rabble."

"We support no one but the kingdom, Donna. Everyone's kingdom. We, that is…I merely intend to find the fairest course."

Donna Clementine looked shocked, as if she had been calmly informed that the sky was falling, or that the earth was breaking apart. After a moment, though, she composed herself, and a glint of steel flew into her eye.

"Well. I suppose that you know best, Princess. Though I daresay we might have expected a fairer treatment, _considering_. Now, if you'll excuse us, we will be recovering from this morning's _indignity_."

She took Sugar Spice by the shoulder and swept her inside the house. Before they vanished, Sugar gave the Princess a sour, huffy look. The door closed with something a shade more graceful than a slam.

"Applejack, I do not believe your aunt likes me very much."


End file.
